


It's Your Destiny, Son

by Miah_Arthur



Series: Closer Than Yesterday [1]
Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Psychological Torture, Recovery, Whump, bring your own subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-13 11:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 39,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miah_Arthur/pseuds/Miah_Arthur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rev showed himself to be a dangerous and ruthless man.  He would have murdered Amelia Benton.  He tried many ways to manipulate Duke into willingly killing the Troubled. On his ghostly orders, his followers were ready to physically force Duke to murder twenty people. If Audrey had not killed him, how far would he have gone to try to make Duke his own executioner?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who, What, Where, Wendigo?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Haven. I don't intend to make money with this. 
> 
> This fic is currently unbeta'd. It is fully written, so I'll be posting it over the next several days. If you find any errors or have any critiques, I am happy to listen. I like to improve as a writer. 
> 
> This is actually my very first fanfic. Thanks to Roseveare for her fic, [Body Parts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1047295), which sparked this idea, although this story is unrelated to hers. Also, thank you to my friends Caddy and Ekyl for ideas and problem solving.

 

 

# It's Your Destiny, Son

 

 

Duke heard about the missing kid over the scanner. ‘Nathan, hon, got a report of a missing kid over at the Dixie Boy Truck Stop.’ It wasn't the first promising lead he’d heard since Evi’s death, but nothing else had panned out yet. He waited until he heard Nathan radio that they were leaving the vehicle at the scene. Then he gave it twenty minutes or so, and called the diner asking for Dwight. When the waitress said sure, there was a giant who looked like a Viking with the police, Duke arranged for Tracy, his General Manager, to cover for him at the Gull.

He didn't have long to wait. He’d barely made it to the Land Rover after handing the Gull over to Tracy when his caller ID showed Audrey’s name.

“Audrey, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He said trying to sound casual.

“Hey Duke, we’re over at the Dixie Boy Truck Stop. A man chased a kid into the park. Threw a truck driver like he weighed nothing. It looks like the Troubles, and I was thinking you could meet us over here. We could definitely use you.” 

That seemed to be the going thing with everyone lately, how can we use Duke? He sighed. “You know, I wish that I could help, but I actually have plans.” He wasn't particularly proud of what he was about to do, but he definitely had plans.

”Listen, I know you’re trying to deal with what happened to Evi, but I just thought that chasing a serial killer might take your mind off things.” He almost smiled. It was a twisted offer, but he knew it was Audrey with her orphanage inspired social skills trying her best to reach out to him. Any other time he would have encouraged the awkward gesture, but not this time.

“While I appreciate the generous offer, I don’t think that’s going to work. Good luck.” He hung up the phone. He should be calling immediately. This was the chance he’d been waiting for, so why the delay? He thought of Evi lying dead on a gurney, and dialed the Rev.

 

* * *

Duke watched Nathan and Dave Teagues creeping through the woods. The Rev’s men had seen them coming from a distance. He stepped on a twig, and watched them go on alert. 

Nathan was creeping around the tree that Duke was standing behind. He steeled himself for what he was about to do, and hoped that Nathan would forgive him someday. He stepped from behind the tree and pointed his shotgun at Nathan. 

He watched Nathan’s expression change from shock to what might be understanding as the Rev said, “Lower your weapon, Nathan.”

Duke wondered if Nathan had noticed that he didn't have the shotgun within several inches of being braced against his shoulder. He hoped that the Rev’s men were too far away to see it, but he couldn't bring himself to make it a serious threat against Nathan. 

“Easy, son,” the Rev said.

“I don’t know what the Hell you’re doing here Reverend, but you and your men better stand down.” Nathan turned to point his rifle at the Rev. 

“You first,” The Rev said

“Actually, we’re going to do this all at the same time. “ Audrey said entering the clearing with her Glock 17 aimed at the Rev. “One... Two... Three.” 

Duke couldn't let the Rev see what Nathan saw. He didn't lower his weapon. Nathan turned back to him. Duke wasn't sure if it was because Nathan thought he was a real threat, or because he realized that by turning his back, he jeopardized Duke’s position with the Rev and his men.

Audrey almost rolled her eyes at the two of them. “Play nice boys, I could take out two of you before anybody got off a shot.”

Duke saw over Nathan’s shoulder that the Rev nodded. Now he could lower his weapon. 

Nathan, being Nathan had to say, “You all just committed a felony.”

“We’re protecting one of our own, Nathan.” The Rev said, then nodded toward the three of them. “You should understand that.” 

Audrey didn't take her eyes off the Rev, but she said to Duke, “What the Hell are you doing here, and what are you doing with the Rev?” 

“Just some concerned citizens trying to protect our town,” Duke said. He had to play this up. Make it look good for the Rev. This was his best chance for making the old goat believe that murdering his wife was the right way to gain his loyalty. 

“We’re trying to find that boy, and the killer who took him,” the Rev said.

“Killer’s dead,” Nathan said moving to face the Rev. “You have no idea what we’re dealing with.” Nathan increased his volume to address all the men. “And you’ve got no authority to be here.”

“We know how to hunt down evil, and we know what to do when we find it. Unlike you. Why don’t you ask the boy’s father if he wants us to leave.” 

Campbell looked at the assembled men and back at Nathan. “We need the numbers.” 

Duke started to follow the Rev, but Nathan grabbed his shirt as he walked by, pulling him in. “What are you insane?” Nathan asked harshly

This was one he didn't have to lie to answer. “Insane is doing the same thing over and over again, when it gets you nowhere.”

Nathan clearly didn't approve. “So you make a date with the Rev?” Nathan’s eyes searched his, and his voice was lower, more private, “Is this just about Evi?”

Duke had to give it to the other man. He knew how to hit the center of things. He told Nathan the lie he had prepared for the Rev. And maybe thanks to all that Evi had taught him about lying to people, it rolled off his tongue without a hint of hesitation. “Evi’s dead. And for the first time, I am seeing things clearly.” He held Nathan’s eyes for a moment longer, then shoved Nathan’s hand away from his shirt, and said loudly, “Now stay out of my way.”

One more moment that he hoped let Nathan see that staying away was for his own good. Duke joined the others, and ended up paired with Sasquatch the Techno Viking. They didn't have much to say to each other while tramping through the woods. For a guy who made a living ‘cleaning’ what the people of Haven saw by talking them around to his views, Dwight could be awfully quiet.

It was almost full dark when the idiots the Rev had brought in as muscle lost their final match. None of them had noticed that he had arranged the wood to make it nearly impossible for the fire to catch up, hence the idiots moniker. He offered to get fire from the other side, since he was the only one Audrey might be willing to talk to. 

Tweedledee and Tweedledum were starting to get cold, so they had no problem with him making that sacrifice. Thankfully Audrey was alone tending the fire. He’d been afraid the others would join her before the Rev’s men gave up on their fire.

Duke approached her cautiously. He knew she was pissed at him. Her glare confirmed it. He sighed. “I, uh, I guess we’re out of matches,” he said lamely.

“Who the Hell do you think you are? You lie to me. You threaten Nathan, and then you come over here and you ask for fire tips? No. Get out of my face, Duke.” Audrey said, her glare matched by the venom in her voice.

He looked at the sky, frustrated. She wasn't going to listen to him right now. “Fine.” He stood up to leave, but turned back. If he didn't tell her now, he might never get another chance. Just spit it out and be done with it. “Damn it Audrey. I came over here to tell you, you can trust me!” 

“ _What_?” Audrey asked.

“I know exactly what I’m doing.” He said. He did. He could do this. Win this game with the Rev. He was a master of the long con. 

“Getting in bed with the Rev? You do realize one of those guys killed Evi. Don’t act like you don’t care about that.” Audrey said, still angry.

Well, he was still angry, too, and he shouldn't have to tell her that he was. He thought she knew him better than this. “The _REV_ killed Evi. One way or another it goes back to him. And yeah, I’d have my revenge right now if he didn't know about every other mystery in my life. Evi. The tattoo. My father.” 

He looked away, almost paced, but forced himself to stop. Audrey was still glaring at him. No. He wasn't being fair to her. She was a believer in actions, and his all pointed to a traitor. He sighed heavily. They had what could almost be construed as a real friendship. He didn't have enough of those to mess this one up. He had to make her understand.

He sat on a rock opposite her and softly said, “Audrey.” She kept glaring at him. He tried again, leaning forward toward her and putting on his most sincere expression. “Audrey.” He tapped his chest, “It’s me. Okay? I _feel_ like I am on to something big.” He paused to look in her eyes to see if he was getting through her walls of anger. “But I don’t have any idea what it is.”

Audrey’s expression finally softened, “Welcome to the club,” she said sadly.

Duke could expand on this crack in her angry shell. “You know I want answers, too.” 

She reached over and picked up a bundle of grass. “Dried grass packed with animal dung.” She tossed it on the fire. “Burns forever.”

“Thanks,” Duke said, meaning for so much more than the fire tip. Pull the conversation back toward normal now, Crocker, he told himself. “Did the FBI teach you that?” 

Audrey looked into the distance. She shrugged, and said with more than a hint of bitterness, “I don’t know where I learned it.” She looked at him. “I don’t know who I was when I learned it. Can you believe that?” She ducked her head, not meeting his eyes.

He shook his head. He’d missed normal by a long shot, but he’d take sharing. “You know with you, Audrey, there’s nothing I don’t believe.” 

She looked up at him, concern written on her expression, “Okay, listen. You know that I’m the last person to tell anyone how to lead their life, but just know that some doors you kick open--you can never close again.”

He _needed_ to know. He didn't really want to think about the possible consequences. His father’s death, Evi’s death, this horrible family secret-he needed it to have meaning. He needed to know that Evi hadn't died for no reason. He was trying to figure out how to make Audrey understand that when he heard something moving in the woods. “You hear that?”

“Hear what?” He saw disbelieve in his change of subject flit across her face before the wendigo’s scream echoed around them. 

They stood up, Audrey drawing her pistol. “That,” Duke said. He rushed for his shotgun, and joined the others in watching the tree line. Even went so far as to say, “Amen, Reverend!” When Campbell suggested they all run off into the woods to fight invisible cannibal monsters in the dark, and the Rev agreed. 

He pretended to not hear Nathan say, “Duke is going to get himself killed.” 

Amen, Nathan. Maybe Nathan's party had the sense to stay together in camp.

Once in the woods, he fell just far enough behind that he could follow without being seen. They weren't out in the dark for more than a couple of minutes, though, before the Rev had everyone turning back. Duke sneaked further off the path to let them go by him. Just as he was about to head back to camp, he heard someone stepping heavily through the underbrush even further off everyone else's path, and realized it was Nathan. Duke knew Nathan depended on his eyes to keep his feet under him in this kind of uneven terrain. He was going to get himself killed stumbling around in the dark. 

He was about to yell at Nathan to stop and go back to camp with him, when something caught Nathan’s foot and slammed him hard onto the ground. Duke moved forward, but stopped when he saw movement. A girl. Two girls. These were wendigos? Oh good grief, and of course they were asking for help to keep from eating people, so sweet little girl-child monsters. Would that stop the Rev from killing them? Thinking of Jean, who might also grow up to be a monster, he hoped so. There were some lines he wouldn't cross for answers. 

He followed as Nathan sneaked back toward camp to get Audrey. They both saw her meet up with the Rev, and heard what he had to say about killing the Troubled instead of coddling them. Duke heard the fear in Audrey’s voice when she asked about Nathan. Even though he had thought he couldn't hate the bastard anymore after what he had done to Evi, putting that fear in Audrey’s voice pushed it to a new level. 

Duke ran for camp. This could still work. He’d slow them down. Make sure Nathan and the Sasquatch had a chance to get those girls out ahead of the Rev tomorrow. Hang around just long enough to get answers and then bash the bastard’s skull in and make sure the body was never found. Or maybe throw him in the water still alive with a tub of chum. 

Yeah, or not. He wasn't a killer--not even for revenge.

The next morning, Nathan suggested they split along party lines. The Rev was suspicious of course, and decided to go the same direction as Nathan’s group instead of toward the other side of the park like Nathan told them to. 

He managed a few delays, but the Rev was crazy like a fox, and Duke couldn't be too obvious. They were bringing up the rear of the party when the Rev motioned for him to wait.

“You made a fine choice joining us. It took a long time.” 

“I think you’re right on both accounts,” Duke said carefully. This was promising.

“As a man we’re defined by our moral boundaries. And if we allow them to be compromised in even the smallest way, you live a false life. Some men never learn that.” The man never left the pulpit, did he?

“I guess I've just got an old soul.” Duke said.

“You've been through a great deal. You and I got to sit down and have a long conversation after all this is over. You have the opportunity to succeed in Haven where your father so tragically failed.” 

Duke paused. It was everything he had wanted. He just had to see it through. Asking about the last bit was obviously why the Rev had left an opening, so he played his part. “Failed at what exactly?” 

“Saving our town. I believe it’s your destiny, son.” The crazy was practically oozing off the Rev now, but this was exactly where Duke had wanted to be.

“That’s a conversation I look forward to,” Duke said with absolute sincerity.

The Rev gave him a large, almost genuine looking smile, “So do I.” He motioned for them to continue walking. 

Duke had almost caught up with the group when he realized that he couldn't hear the Rev behind him. He checked and no sign of the man. Great! He had finally gotten in and the man had probably been eaten by a monster posing as a little girl. 

He backtracked to where they had been talking and found the Rev’s gun and drag marks made the Rev’s heels in the soft forest floor. He followed these to the edge of a clearing. The Rev was tied to a tree and the missing boy and a third girl were circling him. 

The girl suddenly scented that people were coming, and the boy ran off. After a few moments, Duke heard him begin screaming and crying for help, trying to draw away the rescuers. The girl hadn't smelled Duke, so he must have gotten lucky and approached from down wind. 

He clutched his shotgun. If it looked like she was actually going to hurt Driscoll, then he’d fire in the air and hope she ran away. He really didn't want to hurt a girl, but the way she was circling and trying to psych herself up for it, Duke didn't think she had any carry through in her. He was proven right when she cut the ropes. Then the Rev took the knife from her. She was on the ground begging and saying she was sorry when Duke stepped into the clearing

“This isn't about vengeance. My life doesn't matter. this is about the lives you’d take if I let you go,” the Rev said raising the knife. 

“Stop!” Duke shouted. “Let her go.”

“Son, I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but this is what we came out here for.” The Rev didn't lower the knife, but he was staring at Duke now.

Duke raised his shotgun to his shoulder. “No. I didn't come out here to kill anyone, especially not a little girl. Let her go.”

“I’m really disappointed, son. I thought you had finally accepted your purpose in life. Finally joined the side of God.”

“No god I believe in--” Okay so he was Buddhist and didn't believe in any gods, but it sounded good. “--tells me it’s okay to kill people.” He took a step forward. The girl was thankfully being still, not attracting attention.

“Then tell me, son, what were you trying to accomplish here?” He smiled maliciously. “Oh, I know.” He released the girl’s shirt to point at Duke. “You thought you could fool me. That I wouldn't test your willingness to use your gift to free the afflicted before handing you the keys to everything.” 

The girl moved in a blur of motion that was almost too fast to be seen, and was out of the clearing before the Rev could react.

Duke didn't lower his weapon. He wasn't killing anyone. Not even to give Evi’s life meaning. “Leave. I don’t want to hear from you or your men again. I’m not a murderer.”

The Rev straightened up, squared his shoulders. A coldly calculating look in his eyes. “All right son. If that’s the way things have to be.”

“Start walking,” Duke said, still covering the Rev with the shotgun.

The man gave him a small salute before turning and walking in the direction of the truck stop. When Duke was finally sure the Rev was gone, he sat down heavily. He pushed the gun away from him with a shout of frustration. He’d been so close! 

He pulled his knees up, wrapped his arms around them, and put his head down. No, he hadn't. He’d been close to putting himself in a situation where he was surrounded by the Rev’s men, in a location of the Rev’s choosing, being faced with killing someone or being overpowered. He was an idiot.

“Duke?” Nathan said from across the clearing in the direction the blur of girl had gone. “Are you okay?”

“No, but I’m not hurt.”

“What happened with the Rev?” Duke didn't move when Nathan walked over to him and moved the shotgun further away.

“Told him to go home. He’s probably trying to catch up with his men, so they can hunt those girls down.”

“Don’t worry. Dwight already had one of them back to the truck stop, and the others are joining him. He’s going to take them somewhere they can live without needing to kill people.” Nathan sat beside him. 

“That’s good.” He looked up and met Nathan’s eyes. “He was never going to tell me anything, Nathan. Not without the price being more than I can pay.”

“What?”

Duke put his head back on his knees. “He planned to make me kill for him before he’d trust me enough to tell me anything. It was all a con, and I walked in with eyes wide open, so sure I could out con the con.” He put his head back on his arms.

Nathan put an arm around Duke’s shoulders; pulled him in tight. They sat there like that for a while before Nathan said, “Loss sometimes makes us behave in strange ways. It’ll get better.”  



	2. Harry Nix

 

 

He wouldn't kill. That was where he drew the line. He wouldn't kill for Evi. He wouldn't kill for his own need to know, and Audrey, of all people, had made him a killer. Sure. She’d told him he could walk away. That she wouldn't think less of him--like he gave a flying fuck what she thought of him right then. And he _had_ walked away--walked right into her checkmate. He saw the Nix boy already suffering from the effects of his family’s curse. He remembered all those baby pictures at the fertility clinic.

If he did nothing, he was murdering all those children. Children who had done nothing, apart from being born. Duke drained his glass and refilled it. He didn't even care to know which bottle he had grabbed at this point. Audrey had given him a choice. Murder Harry Nix or murder his eighty children. He had looked at the picture of Jean he carried in his wallet, and at the panicking mother of the now collapsed Nix boy.

It wasn't really a choice was it? He wouldn't kill those children. He had kissed Jean’s picture, put his wallet back in his pocket, and went back to kill a man. It hadn't taken much. Harry Nix had at most a couple of minutes left to live. Duke had put his hand over the man’s mouth and nose, and pressed. It didn't even take much pressure. The man was too weak to resist, but his eyes. Duke saw those eyes every time he closed his. If he was going to be a murderer, then he was going to own it. He hadn't allowed himself the luxury of looking away. He'd stared at those eyes right down to second he knew it was over, because of the rush that hit his system.

He’d made it out of the clearing, away from the body before he had thrown up until he couldn't heave anymore. His body _enjoyed_ taking Harry Nix’s life. He was _designed_ to be a killer. Nathan knew it. Knew what it had done to him when he killed that man. They all knew what had happened to his father. It never said it directly in the journal, but it was there all the same. How he’d killed for the rush until he had to be put down like a rabid animal. He was as much of a monster as Harry Nix, wasn't he? 

Nathan couldn't even look at him since he'd done it. Duke wasn't sure if Nathan hated him for being designed to get a Pavlovian enforcement for murdering or if it was fear of what that response would do to him. Maybe both. He knew he both hated and feared himself right now. He emptied the bottle. 

No other full bottles were in sight. He stood up to go look for another one, but only made it a few steps before he lost his balance and fell to the floor. He tried a few times to get back up, but his body, his traitorous body, refused to cooperate. 

It took a few days before he ran out of liquor on the _Rouge_ , and ended up sober long enough to think clearly. Killing Harry Nix hadn't really been a choice. He'd weighed the lives of eighty children against the peace of his own soul and made the decision. How much more would it have cost him to watch those children die because he refused to kill a dying man? It was the only real option he had had.

He’d helped a lot over the last year before he knew about this curse. What could he do with this family...legacy if he did have a real choice? He knew he could use it to help, and the next time he heard about a Troubled case he’d prove it.


	3. Daphne

By the time Duke walked into the hospital to check on Daphne, it had been a long day. He had died for fuck’s sake. His chest still ached from the water Daphne had put in his lungs. It had taken hours to get warm again after he had carried her up the cliff. The shaking had started as soon as the blood rush wore off, and he wasn't sure if it was a side effect of the blood or the fact that he was cold and wet and scared again. If he had been alone in that yard. He’d be dead right now. 

Nathan had almost shot him. Might have if Audrey hadn't been there. He wasn't a monster though. Now he knew it and Nathan and Audrey, well maybe they didn't _know_ it, but they’d at least seen it. He’d be back the next time a Trouble came across the scanner and the next and the next until that fear and hatred had been wiped out of Nathan’s mind. Until he had been able to forgive Audrey. Maybe someday he’d even forgive himself.

Audrey and Claire walked out of Daphne’s room. Audrey looked surprised to see him. “Duke! I didn't know you were going to be here.”

He wasn't sure he was really ready for this conversation. Especially not in front of Claire. She was too good by half at seeing through his masks. “Daphne asked me to come by so she could say…” He stuck his hands in pockets. Almost feeling shy about his reason to be here. “Thank you, I guess.” Audrey nodded. Before it could get completely awkward he asked, “How is she?” 

Claire answered. “She’s wrapping her head around the fact that she’s responsible for hurting and killing people she cared about.”

Talk about an appropriate coincidence. “Yeah. That’s gonna be a hard thing to live with,” Duke said looking meaningfully at Audrey. 

Claire easily caught that major subtext was happening and said, “I’m gonna re-check her vitals.” Then she retreated back into Daphne’s room. 

Duke watched her leave, and waited for the awkwardness to commence. The forgiving Audrey part of this scenario hadn't happened yet. 

Audrey didn't meet his eyes as she said, “Hey, I wanted to say thank you.” She moved to ‘casually’ lean against the wall. “Thank you for helping us find Daphne...alive. We couldn't have done it without you.” She finally looked at him and nodded, but didn't say anything else. 

He finished it for her. “And thank you for not killing her.” She looked at him with shock that he had said it, but didn't make an immediate denial. “I mean, I’m just going to assume that that’s implied.”

“Of…” He saw the guilt in her expression, and that she saw him seeing it, but she went ahead with the too late denial. “course not.”

“I mean, Nathan can think whatever he wants. I don’t care.” He did. He really did, but no way was he admitting it. He looked in her eyes, wanting her to know what this meant for him. “You’re the one who asked me to kill that man. Asked me to do something that I said I would _never_ do.”

She broke eye contact. Stared through the window at Daphne. “I know,” she said, nodding. “This is… Is all my fault.”

That wasn't what he wanted her to take away from this. “No. That’s just it.” He paused. The truth from her would have made this easier to take, so he guessed he'd be the better person and give her what she hadn't trusted him with. “It was my decision. That’s why I wanted to be on this case, Audrey. To show you that my family’s legacy, does not control me.” He met her eyes again as he said, “And neither do you.” 

She looked at him, appraising for a moment before she said, “I know.” Then she stepped around him and walked away. He watched her go, a heavy feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with seawater. She turned the corner and was gone. Time to visit Daphne and get back to the _Rouge_. A fresh stock of wine was sitting on his counter waiting for him.

Claire picked that moment to walk back into the hall. He could feel her analyzing him, and he didn't like it. He held up a hand, before she could speak “Don’t even think about it,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, and said, “Wouldn't dare.”

He walked past her as he said, “Good.”

Of course she couldn't leave it alone. “But!” He stopped and turned slowly to face her. Once she had his attention, she continued, “Just wondering. How much of this was you worrying that Audrey sees you differently now.”

He shook his head. “I don’t worry about what Audrey thinks of me.”

She shrugged in that obnoxiously perky way she had, and said, “Just keep telling yourself that.” She practically skipped away down the hall. 

He wanted to catch her, tell her how she was wrong. It wasn't about what Audrey thought of him. It was about what he thought of himself. But he caught himself. She had done that on purpose to make him want to chase her down and correct her. He shook his head. Dangerously smart.


	4. It begins

 

 

Duke helped on a few more Troubled cases over the next few weeks. None of them involved blood, but Nathan had stopped constantly looking at him like he was an imminent danger. It was still awkward between him and Audrey, but things were improving. Things were improving in his head, too. He wasn't drinking himself into a stupor every night now, though it was still happening far too often to be healthy. 

He still saw Harry Nix’s eyes every time he closed his eyes. He needed a change of scenery, so when an old contact called him asking him to move a special box, he jumped at the chance. He left Tracy in charge of the Gull. She was mostly in charge of it anyway. He had authorized her months ago to sign checks for the employees and vendors, since his other activities meant he wasn't always the most reliable boss. He told her to expect him back in a week. 

He purposefully didn't tell Audrey and Nathan he was leaving. It made him smile to wonder how long it would take them to notice he was gone. Duke whistled as he walked up the dock. This break was exactly what he needed. Some time for it to fully work through Nathan’s thick skull that Duke wasn't planning the wholesale slaughter of Troubled people. That he was in charge of his family’s curse and not the other way around. Give himself some time to remember that he had had a life before all this happened.

So it was somehow not surprising when he heard the pop of the taser a second before the jolt of electricity had him writhing on the ground in pain, and about six seconds before the current stopped leaving him drooling on the deck. 

He vaguely felt a poke in the crook of his elbow before his arms were pulled together in front of him and secured with handcuffs. He blinked, clearing some of the cobwebs from his mind. This was not happening. He couldn't quite focus yet, but there was definitely one person at his feet. He aimed for the middle image and kicked.

The kick connected and the guy staggered back into the table, which crashed over. There was suddenly a lot of space around him, and if his mind wasn't still running slow from being tased, he might have realized it meant he was about to be tased again. As it was, the sudden pain had him pulling against the handcuffs and screaming. 

This time when the fog lifted, he was trussed up like a pig on the way to slaughter. Tape on his mouth, and swinging between two guys holding his hands and feet. Seriously, the only thing missing was the long pole. 

Shouldn't this be bothering him? All he could think was how the lights on the dock made such pretty swirly patterns as he swung back and forth. Oh. Right. They’d injected him with something.

* * *

His arms were held down.He thrashed trying to free them, but nothing worked. Something was rattling loudly and echoed painfully in his ears. After a few moments exhaustion pulled him back under. 

Sometime later he managed to pull his eyes open. He tried to rub his eyes, but his hands were connected. He blinked some more, well that was interesting. He rolled his head to one side and blankly took in the hewn stone wall. Hmm. That was nice. He stared at the ceiling some more content to just see. 

Eventually he became aware that there was something sharp digging into his shoulder. He rolled over to get away from it. A section of the chain, cold from the floor, rubbed across his bare ribs. He frowned. Something wasn't right in that thought. Where was he? 

He looked around the room. Small. Stone walls. High ceiling. A metal door like a hatch set about six feet high on the wall, with concrete stairs leading to it. He closed his eyes. He was in a cell. Chained to a wall, and oh yeah, naked. He wasn't really all that upset. Maybe you just need to see if you can get to the door, Duke. He told himself, but he couldn't quite manage to keep his eyes open.


	5. A Slow Death

 

 

The next time Duke woke with a full body flinch. He was chained naked to a wall in a cell, and he was finally awake enough to be concerned by that fact. He sat up and raised his hands to scrub at his face. He never did well with anesthesia. It always took him a long time to really wake up. He took a better look around. It was a small room with no windows. The light was coming from a single bare bulb hanging overhead, which left the corners of the room in shadow. Pipes ran along the high ceiling. A large drainage grill was set in the floor. A thick metal bracket a few feet above his head served to anchor the chain. He cautiously got to his feet, but other than being thirsty, he seemed fine. 

As if in answer to his thoughts about water, a trickle of it began from an open ended pipe he hadn't seen in the shadowy corner. The water poured in faster until it was hitting the floor in a spattering spray that threw a fine mist over him. He backed up. This was okay. There was a drain. Nothing to worry about, right? The water pulsed over to the drain and poured down it. Duke breathed a little easier--for about a second. The water gurgled and backed up the drain. The puddle was already reaching his feet. 

“Shit,” Duke muttered and headed for the door. The chain allowed him to within a foot of the base of the stairs, but no further. The water was up to his ankles now. He sloshed his way across the room at the limits of the chain. He could cover most of the room, which meant the main purpose was to keep him off the stairs. 

“Where’s the camera? Do you have sound too, you sick fucks?” he shouted at his absent captors.

He pulled on the chain trying to rip the bracket from the wall. It didn't budge. Drowning once was more than enough, thank you.

Maybe when the water got high enough he could get a grip on the ring the chain was attached to and… That was a stupid plan. Treading water with his hands together and connected to a heavy chain? That wasn't going to last long enough to get up to the anchor point. 

Maybe he could get his hands out? When the water was up to his thighs and tinged pink around him from abraded skin he gave that idea up. 

Duke stopped himself; tried to center. They, whoever they were, were either going to kill him or they weren't. He had no way out. He was certain there was a camera. He had been semi-conscious for a long time, probably hours, based on his reactions to anesthesia in the past. They could have filled the room at any point during that and drowned him without him ever understanding what was happening. It had waited until he was on his feet and fully aware of his impending doom. They were watching.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He couldn't stop the water, but he’d be damned if he was giving them a show.

Duke deliberately leaned against the wall. He couldn't stop his heart rate from jumping as the water crept up his ribs, but he remained still. 

When it was lapping his chin a muscle in his jaw was jumping from gritting his teeth so hard. He stood up straight adding six inches to his height, and stared at the area he thought he’d spied the camera. 

The water ran from the pipe until it was lapping the bottom of his chin. He waited, listening to the drips plop into the cell. They stopped, and still he waited. 

Finally he couldn't hold it in any longer, and a laugh, one that even he’d have to admit was tinged with hysteria, bubbled its way out. He wasn't dead. 

On the back of that thought came a more sobering one. He wasn't dead yet. Now that he wasn't thinking of his imminent death by drowning, he noticed that the water was warm. It was way too warm to not be heated--just like the air in the room had been, he realized. Water temperature outdoors right now was about 40 degrees. As long as it had taken to pump this water in, he’d have already been well on his way to hypothermia. 

Most people didn't realize how fast water could leech the heat out of a body. Copping a feel hadn't been the only reason he had stripped Audrey’s clothes when he had pulled her out of the water that first day. The water had only been about 40 degrees then, too. This was much warmer--long-term survivable warm. Whoever had him didn't want him to have a quick freeze or an even quicker drowning. 

It wasn't luck at all that he hadn't been injured when he woke up. This was a slow death. A test to see how long he could keep his head above water. 

After a few minutes he realized it was also a matter of how long he could handle the boredom. This was going to take some serious time. 

His mind immediately offered up an image of Harry Nix’s eyes as he smothered the man. He hadn't been able to meditate since he had become a murderer, so distraction was the order of the day. He shook off the image and started with reviewing every movie he could remember. Then it was song lyrics, books, poetry, curses in a variety of languages, real vocabulary in every language he could do so much as ask for directions in, every aspect of every illegal thing he had ever done, and even inventory at the Grey Gull. All the while keeping his sins at bay. He was tired, but no where near the end of his strength yet when he ran out of things to list. 

He wasn't actually all that good at the mantras--he found them boring--but he knew them. Three rounds of fifteen joints plus three points in his wrist made 108. Ready at hand--he snorted--obviously he was losing his mind already to be punning. Focus! Three times around his hand to replace the shu zhu he normally never used. He made it through three hands of three hands-18 mantras-before he caught himself almost nodding off, and that was it. He was out of things not listed under “How Duke Has Screwed Up” to think about.

He held the chain, giving his legs a break, well, let the self-flagellation begin then, he supposed. At least he could try to force it into chronological order, keep those eyes at bay for a while longer.


	6. Not Yet, Not Now

 

 

Would anyone find his body? 

Audrey and Nathan would miss him when they needed him again, and they wouldn't stop until they found him. They would find him, just not today. There would be no Nathan here to save him, or at least to not let him die alone this time. True to form, he’d never thanked Nathan for staying with him when Jean’s birth had been killing him.

It was a struggle to keep reminding himself what he was doing. He was too tired to concentrate on anything other than keeping his knees straight and his head up, and…

Duke jolted back upright when his face touched the water. How would it end? Would he fall asleep and sink beneath the water or would he wake up but be unable to force his body above the water again? 

He didn't want to die. 

“What’ll you do for a Klondike Bar?” he mumbled with a small smile. His life was worth so much more right? 

Those were stupid last words. Now he couldn't think of anything else to say except literally I can’t think of better last words, and that was even worse. He thought maybe Audrey and Nathan would understand what he’d been thinking when they found the video the bastards were probably making…

He spluttered awake again. He didn't want to die.

“Please,” he whispered. He had told himself a thousand times while waiting for this moment that he’d never beg. He’d take it like a man. He didn't want to die. “Please!” he shouted. “Please, get me out of here! I don’t want to die. Please, please.” 

It didn't work. He hated himself a little more, and he was a little closer to what he’d do for just a few more minutes…

His head was underwater. His leg muscles quivered and trembled and he lost which way was up. Maybe he was pushing himself further down. But his hair floated around him and reminded him. He finally managed to break water and gulp in a breath of air. That gave him the push he needed to force his legs straight once more. And it probably was once more. He didn't think he’d be able to do it again.

Why? Why was he doing this? He had gone through all this time alone here in the water. Was there even anyone watching anymore? Did they fill the tank and leave? Last laugh on the idiot in the water who thinks at least he’s not completely alone? All this time and he was going to die. In a few minutes he would fail completely, and he’d be dead. The tremors in his legs and knots in his back were growing. It hurt. He was going to die in a few minutes and he couldn't force himself to let go and end the pain now.

The look in Harry Nix’s eyes. He had had only a minute or two left, and his eyes had said the same thing. Not yet. Not now. 

He forced his arms up to clutch the chain. He wasn't going easy. As long as he could say ‘Not now’ he was going to. 

Was he getting taller? Maybe the water was getting shorter? He felt a tug of running water and dumbly followed it with his eyes. There was a swirl in the center of the world--the cell. He meant the center of the cell. The water was down to his chest now. He was too heavy to hold himself out of it, and sank to his knees and finally all the way down onto his side. 

Some of the water hadn't drained. He was lying in a puddle of it. There was a reason he should move. Something about temperature, but he couldn't remember now. 

I’m not dead.

A part of him wanted to shout it out, but not faced with immediate death, the rest of him refused to cooperate.


	7. Mr. McKee

 

 

He was huddled in a miserable, and now quite cold, heap in the corner where the water had left him when the door finally opened.

“Sit up, son.” echoed through the room in a horribly familiar voice.

Duke opened his eyes and blinked blearily wondering how he had not heard the heavy metal door opening. He wanted to make a witty remark amounting to telling the Rev to go fuck himself, but he was just too tired, and in the end sat up with no argument.

“Good, good.” The words were practically a purr and damned if that wasn't about the creepiest thing he’d ever heard. Reverend Driscoll nodded to one of his men, and a blanket was draped over Duke’s shoulders.

He pulled it tighter around his body, stupidly grateful for it, even knowing that he wouldn't be here in the first place if it wasn't for the Rev. He swayed and almost face-planted the floor, but he was stopped by the warm, so very warm, arm of Reverend Driscoll. 

“You need to eat.” The Rev was holding a cup out to him. He reached for it and missed. Frowning he tried harder to focus and take the cup, but never made contact. “Put your hand down, son.” 

Duke sighed, well that was that. So it did surprise him when the cup touched his lips. Still creepy. Definitely still creepy. Not saying no to it, of course, but damn. 

By the time the cup was empty, Duke could feel strength seeping back into his limbs. When he was handed a food bar he was able to coordinate enough to feed himself. The Rev was still touching him. Gripping his shoulder like he was congratulating him on something. At least there were no tacks involved.

The food bar was gross, one of those for keeping in lifeboats, but that meant it had enough calories to keep him going for a while. Maybe long enough to be missed. Nathan would say he was unreliable and skipped town--and hadn't he been planning to?--but Audrey hadn't known him for so long. She’d insist on looking for him. She’d find him. _They'd_ find him. His eyelids drooped. Demands for calories and warmth met, his body had moved on to demanding rest.

He startled when the Rev began speaking again. “You made good choices today, son. Good choices are to your benefit. When I come back, you are to be kneeling on the drain before the door is fully open.” The Rev’s arm disappeared from his shoulders, and the entire group marched up the stairs and out. The heavy door clanged shut, and the hand-wheel squealed as they spun it to lock him in.

That...was bizarre. Sleep now. Wait for Audrey and Nathan. He could do that.

 

The next thing Duke was aware of was being kicked in the stomach. He scrambled back, trying to get a handle on what was going on. His back hit the wall and he used it to push himself to his feet. His muscles shook with the effort.

Reverend Driscoll was standing at the base of the stairs looking supremely disappointed. “I’m a reasonable man, Duke. I only gave one small task for you to do in exchange for all the kindness I showed you, and this is how you choose to repay it.” 

Order… Oh. Kneel on the grate. He was tired of this. 

He stood up straight. “Screw you, Rev.”

“Of course, when people make bad choices, there are consequences.” the Rev continued as if Duke hadn't spoken. “On the grate or Mr. McKee will take his glove off. Your choice.”

“Yeah, still going with screw you,” Duke said with as much bravado as he could muster.

Reverend Driscoll shook his head sadly, “You disappoint me, son.” Then he nodded to a little, dark haired man in the corner. 

Men he didn't recognize came from either side and grabbed his arms. He tried to shake them off, but they seemed to barely notice. They dragged him toward the center of the room. McKee walked deliberately toward Duke with such an air of confidence about him that Duke continued struggling, ineffectual as it was. 

“Put him on his knees,” McKee said. Once Duke was down, the guy started carefully, deliberately, finger by finger, removing his right glove. The men holding Duke in place tensed away from the hand.

As soon as the fingers brushed his forehead, he understood why. It was instant pain throughout his body, as if every nerve cell had been hit with an individual taser all at the same time. Even after McKee had stepped away and the other men had dropped Duke to floor, he couldn't stop screaming. The feeling gradually subsided, and he was left gasping on the floor, staring at Reverend Driscoll’s shoes. 

The Rev knelt and grabbed Duke’s jaw and turned him face to face. “Now, son, when you hear that door open where are you supposed to be?”

“...On the grate.”

“Good, good.” He smoothed Duke’s hair back from his forehead. “Remember. Good choices.”

Reverend Driscoll stood and walked out, followed by the rest of the group. Duke curled in on himself and tried not to shake from the remembered pain of that touch. 

 

Something was pounding. He was pretty sure it wasn't just in his head. He dragged himself up from sleep. He was still so tired, like he hadn't been asleep more than a few minutes. He heard the metallic squeal of something that needed oiling. That was important, right? His brain felt so foggy, and he hurt. His legs and back were still knotted in protest against any movement, and the rest of him still felt the tingle from that McKee’s touch. ...Oh.

He didn't want to die, and if the effects lingered this much, how many touches would it take to short circuit him? He rolled onto the grate and pushed himself to his knees just as the door swung open. He...really hadn't thought he’d be so easy. He’d faced pain before without even slowing the smart ass commentary, but he was so tired that his brain refused to supply any at the moment. 

The Rev and several men walked in and surrounded him. He recognized the same two men who had held him before. Yeah, they were definitely being referred to as Tiny and Tim now.

“Good, son,” The Rev said in that oily tone that made his skin crawl.

“Could you get any more creepy?” Okay. There. His mouth seemed to be working again--he hit the floor, every nerve on fire again, but especially around his throat where McKee had touched him. Should have kept an eye on McKee. 

When he stopped screaming, Tiny and Tim hauled him back up to his knees. He was sort of aware of their fingers digging into his arms to hold his weight, but he couldn't convince anything to move to stop it. 

He found himself staring at shoes again until Tiny switched hands holding his arm and yanked his head back by the hair. Then he was staring at the Rev’s face only a few inches from his own. 

“I believe Mr. McKee is trying to tell you that you are to speak when spoken to, and only when spoken to. Isn't that right, Mr. McKee?” 

“Yes sir.” McKee had a nice voice. Smooth, friendly, the kind that attracted attention. Probably sang like an angel, too. It just wasn't fair. Monsters were supposed to be _monstrous_. 

The side of his head smacked the floor when they released him. He heard snickering from somewhere in the room. Then it was silent while they all what? Stared at his naked ass? Yeah, that thought just made everything more awkward. 

He tried moving. It was like muscle groups were fighting each other, making his progress jerky, but he made it back to his knees. He wasn't done yet. 

Another man walked into the room carrying a plate.

“Good, good. Now, put your hand on that plate, and you can rest, or Mr. McKee can help you put your hand on it.”

Duke looked at the plate. There was a large smear of fresh blood. His stomach clenched, and he shook his head. “No.” His voice sounded wrong… They stepped closer with the plate. He could reach it now if he stretched his arms toward it. “No, no, no.” 

Tiny and Tim clamped onto his arms again. Did they know how to do anything else, really? They moved to brace a knee behind his back and get both hands on his upper arms. He’d asked, right?

McKee approached slowly again. Smiling. Like a cat stalking a bird with a broken wing. The glove was slowly coming off his hand. Duke couldn't help it. Couldn't stop himself from struggling. He heard laughter. He knew he wasn't escaping. Pointless to fight, but that hand was coming closer and…

Tiny and Tim had hands of steel. They held him in place while McKee guided his wrist to the plate. His hand was clenched involuntarily into a fist, so McKee rubbed the back of his hand across the plate. McKee released his wrist, and Tiny and Tim instantly dropped him to the floor. He heard the door slam and the wheel spinning into place.

He curled in on himself, every nerve still on fire. He felt the blood absorb into his skin. Instantly the pain of McKee’s touch left him. He felt strength pulse through his body. He leapt to his feet and tried ripping the chain from the wall. A chip of rock sailed over his head. Then he had burned through the surge of blood, and he collapsed back to the floor, weak and pathetic again.

He crawled to the blanket Reverend Driscoll had given him, and was asleep almost instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. McKee is an original character, not a replacement of Jordan. I imagine him as a cousin.


	8. Creepy

 

 

It was harder to wake up the next time. _On the grate, on the grate, on the grate_ rattled around his brain and left a cold fear in it’s wake. 

He remembered the hand reaching for him… The extra surge of fear had him scrambling into place with far more agility than he had thought he had in him right now. His heart pounded as they walked in. When McKee passed the door, a wave of nausea roiled his stomach, and he doubled over, holding his stomach. 

“Touch the blood, son,” Reverend Driscoll didn't need to say what would happen if he didn't. He straightened and saw the plate within reach. He reached for it. “Just remember to behave yourself after you do. Remember--good choices.”

He touched the blood. The rush hit him, and he jumped up to do something--what, he wasn't sure yet. It was hard to think with the blood surging in him. McKee clamped onto him with both hands. The Tiny Tim duo and several others jumped in at the same time. He drew some blood--none of it Troubled to give him another boost, but couldn't get them all off him before the surge wore off. 

Like before, when it wore off everything felt worse; compounded. And by this time McKee had been clinging to him for almost a minute. He lost consciousness before the pain stopped. They woke him with smelling salts. He was wrung out. Nothing left for the moment. 

“--willing to give you another chance, son.” Duke realized that Reverend Driscoll had been speaking for a while, and he’d missed most of it. He felt a little stab of panic at the thought of disappointing the other man. 

He touched the blood again. It was going tacky, but some of it absorbed. He barely even noticed the high. His body was apparently on strike. 

He startled, albeit lethargically, when he felt hands on his body. “Easy, son, easy.” Reverend Driscoll’s voice purred in his ear. “Good boy.” 

Duke still hadn't managed to get his eyes open, but he felt himself being picked up, then put down with something not the floor underneath him. It took some thought before he came to the conclusion that they’d moved him onto the blanket. He was pulled up toward sitting, and then released. He didn't fall back to the floor as he expected, instead he found himself being supported by a familiar arm.

He jerked away from the smelling salts under his nose. He glanced around quickly. No sight of McKee. He was leaning on Reverend Driscoll. The Reverend was holding more soup up to his lips. He drank it without argument, and the stream of praise continued. 

 

Something woke him. He didn't remember Reverend Driscoll leaving. He started to drift back off when an air horn squealed from the area he suspected there was a camera. He dozed back off, but the air horn sounded again. He wasn't quite as tired as before. He at least had enough motor control back to sit up, and eat the food bar and drink the bottle of water that had been left by the blanket. 

He found a bucket had been left in the corner, and made use of it still aware that the camera was still there. He coughed and it sent fire shooting through his throat. Right, try not to do that again. With nothing better to do, he wrapped up in the blanket and leaned in the corner, asleep almost instantly. Only to have the air horn sound again. Over and over the cycle went. He couldn't stay awake, and he couldn't stay asleep. He kept coughing.

He pounded a fist against the floor in frustration. A physical restlessness had settled into him, and he couldn't sit still. He’d never had a problem before with remaining motionless, if the mood struck him. He gave it up and got up to pace, but couldn't even manage a solid pace. It worked out to more of a shuffling dance of shifting foot to foot. 

That seemed to settle the nagging sensation at the back of his mind somewhat, and after a while he leaned back in his corner feeling more relaxed than he had since the water had rushed in on him. 

The wheel handle squealed. 

He suddenly found that he couldn't swallow. Tremors ran through his body. It felt like the whole world narrowed down to that wheel slowly turning. His heart thudded like it was trying to escape his chest. He had to be on that drain. Had to do what they told him to. Maybe he'd live long enough to escape. 

As soon as his knees touched the rough grate, the tightness in his throat eased, and he couldn't hear the pounding of his heart. The door swung open and the standard group marched in. As soon as McKee walked in, it all started back and then some. He was hyperventilating. He knew it, but couldn't stop himself. Reverend Driscoll stepped directly in front of him, blocking his sight of McKee, and put a hand on his shoulder. 

He didn't _want_ it to be comforting. Creepy. Remember? But it _was_ calming. His breathing slowed, the dizziness faded, and his heart slowed. 

“Good, good.”


	9. Too far

 

 

Duke leaned against the corner of the room. He felt like he was drowning. Again. Breathing hurt. Coughing hurt. The areas on his wrists he had torn up trying to get out of the chains were infected, and pain radiated up his arms. 

The door squealed. He jolted forward, toward the grate, but fell on his face coughing. He was weak. So weak. Still he tried to get to the grate.

Tiny and Tim dragged him up off the floor and brought him to the center of the room. Tiny pulled his head up, and he saw a woman standing in front of him. She had a knife, and as he watched she pulled it across her inner arm. 

“Touch the blood, son,” Reverend Driscoll said.

Duke concentrated on making his arm move high enough to reach. He couldn't even bring himself to be freaked out by seeing where the blood was coming from. He had to do it. His whole body trembled with the effort. He saw a look of concern cross her face, and she used her other hand to place his on her arm.

He shuddered as the blood rush hit him. For a minute or so he wouldn't feel anything, and that minute would be the best of his day.

Tiny and Tim dragged him back to his blanket and dropped him on it. He didn't feel it. He smiled. 

“You've got to back off, Reverend,” he heard the woman say.

“This is a necessary training, Karen. Some people are slow learners, and Mr. Crocker is one of the slowest,” Reverend Driscoll said

“He’s not going to be alive to be ‘trained’ if you keep pushing right now. He should be in a hospital. How long has it been since you let him sleep? Or given him proper food? It’s dangerous to lose this much weight this fast. And those wounds on his wrists are infected,” Karen said. 

“He’s no use to us dead,” Reverend Driscoll said a little more thoughtfully. “We’ll make adjustments to the program. See what you can do with your gift for now.”

The blood wore off and the tiredness and pain came rushing back in. The woman, Karen, knelt beside him and ran her hands over him. A stray thought wafted through his mind that he was glad they had given him pants.

She put herself in his line of vision, and said, “Duke, I’m going to help you. Stay still, okay.”

She wrapped one hand around his right wrist, and put her other on his forehead. A burn began slowly in his wrist, but grew hotter and hotter. He whimpered and tugged his hand back. She didn't let him pull away, and he didn't have the strength to force it. 

When she let go, the pain in that arm was gone. She took his left wrist and the burn began again. He tried harder to be still this time. She put her hands on his chest and the burn spread, so hot that he was afraid to look in case it was a real burn.

When she finally stopped, he could breath better. His arms didn't hurt, and he didn't feel like he was drowning anymore. He curled into her side and cried. He wasn't even sure why. It’s not like he was a crier, but he couldn't stop the stream of tears flowing down his face.


	10. Good, good

 

 

Duke’s mind was clearer for a while after Karen had used her gift on him. He wasn't as tired any more after sleeping and realized they must have been waking him after only a few minutes each time before. The Rev kept feeding him only the ration bars, but Duke saw them more often. He held on to hope for a little while that Karen saving his life had meant she would help him, but no rescue came. The Rev told him no one was looking for him. He started to wonder if it was true.

The Rev's rule list grew to control his every action. The smallest infractions were reason for McKee to take off his glove. Duke tried to fight himself. Fight the responses they dragged out of him, but nothing could stop the crippling panic he felt every time he even _thought_ about openly defying an order from the Rev. 

Nothing could stop the rush he got when he touched their blood. Nothing could stop the Rev’s oily praise of ‘Good, good.’ It started so slowly that he didn't even realize, at first, what he was really doing. He was following the rules He was avoiding fear. He was getting a minute free from pain, and for a while he managed to not look at their eyes. After a while, every time he heard Reverend Driscoll say “Good, good.” he got almost as much of a rush as he did when the blood hit his system. 

And then he made eye contact. 

After that, he couldn't help but look in their eyes. It woke him up. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was choosing to appease his body by hurting people. Innocent people. He was every bit the monster that Nathan had thought he was--that he had tried to convince himself he wasn't. His conscience took on the tone of Nathan’s voice. It tried to encourage him to do the right thing. 

But the right thing hurt too damn much, and so he walked with them into every room. Took the knife in his hands, and never even considered--not _ever_ after that first time--planting it in Reverend Driscoll’s chest. He cut lines on arms and chests and stomachs, and he looked at their eyes, their terrified eyes, while he did it.

And through it all he heard, “Good, good.”


	11. Not a Killer

 

 

“Good, good.”

Reverend Driscoll patted Duke on the arm as he walked around him, surveying the effects the blood had on him. He kept his eyes locked on Reverend Driscoll. He needed to anticipate his orders. That was safe. 

Duke could hear the woman on the table sobbing hysterically. He hadn't cut her badly. Little more than a scratch. It was harder to care for her feelings while the blood effected him. It was harder to feel anything, and not feeling was still the best part of his day. 

“Now, son, I have to ask for your help again.” Duke nodded vigorously. “She has a most awful curse. Her poor children,” Reverend Driscoll said shaking his head. “They haven’t seen the sun in two years now.”

Duke looked at him expectantly. Reverend Driscoll didn't like it if he thought Duke wasn't listening, and it was important to keep him happy, or--he glanced toward McKee and shuddered.

“You can end her children’s suffering, son. Take the knife and kill her. Save her children and their children and all the future generations.” He pressed the knife back into Duke’s hand. 

He stepped toward the woman. The blood wore off. Her eyes. He knew those eyes. Not yet. Not now. He wasn't a killer. He wasn't. Not even to save his own life. Not even to keep McKee away. The knife clattered to the floor. “Klondike Bar” he muttered. Not this. He couldn't do this. He fell to his knees and shook. Waiting. 

He was dimly aware of the woman being taken out of the room. He didn't think they’d kill her. They needed him to end her curse. He couldn't do it. 

It was better if he kept still; didn't struggle. But this wasn't forgetting to tuck his shirt in, or dragging his feet. McKee was slowly walking toward him. He’d been good, so, so good lately. 

It made him sick of himself.

The little man looked positively gleeful. Duke held himself still while the glove came off, still that slow, deliberate, finger by finger removal. His heart was pounding, breathing ragged, stomach clenching. He had thrown up on the man’s shoes once. He really didn't want to do that again. He held until the hand was coming toward his face. 

Tiny and Tim caught his arms as he jerked back. He didn't have long to struggle before the hand touched him. 

“Don’t drop the knife!” McKee said in his hideously beautiful voice.

After that, there was no need to hold him. He lost count of the number of times they woke him up. If he’d had any voice left, he would have gladly said anything they wanted. He hoped every time his eyes closed that he wouldn't wake up again, but he did. 

Eventually, he woke up alone. He’d come to realize that the residual pain wasn't from the power of McKee’s touch, really. It was more a side effect of his body’s reaction to it. Muscles clenching past the point of abuse, leaving them sore for long periods. 

He listened to the tiny sounds the steam pipes in the ceiling made. Quieter meant daytime, and more likely for them to come in. Louder meant night and more likely to be left alone. It was louder. He rolled his head to the side taking in the situation. No food. Still a water bottle though. No chains, and he still had his clothes, that was something. He rubbed his face and the still unfamiliar beard didn't seem any longer, so he didn't think he’d lost any time. 

He did his best to clean himself up, drank his water, and rested. The things he did every time he woke up. The things he did to prolong his worthless life. Why hadn't he done it? 

“We’ll find you,” Audrey said from the corner of the room. He didn't answer. Reverend Driscoll didn't like it when he talked. Not even when he was alone. He was never alone. Not really. They watched and watched. They never saw her though. 

_Because she isn't real, jackass._ Funny how the voice in his mind that said things like that--that part of him that tried to keep him sane--sounded just like Nathan. He glanced over at the corner and Audrey was gone. 

I’m not a murderer. _You killed Harry Nix._ To save his children! _What about her children?_ They aren't going to die. The Troubles will be over eventually. How sick was it that that part of his mind had taken on the sound of The Rev's voice? He was never alone. 

He laced his fingers behind his head, squeezed his arms tight against his ears, and rocked. He knew without looking that Audrey was in the corner again. She wouldn't save him. Why couldn't she leave him alone? 

This was never going to end. Never going to end. Why was he fighting? He wasn't a killer, but how much longer would he remember that? Why couldn't he give up? Why couldn't he die? Not now. Not yet?


	12. Real?

 

 

“Good. Good.” 

Duke trembled. The knife was in his hands. The man was on the table. 

He looked to Reverend Driscoll, who nodded and said, “Kill him, son. Release his family from their suffering.” 

Duke nodded and took a shaky step toward the table. He didn't remember coming here. His limbs were so heavy. Holding the knife was important. Can’t drop the knife. Have to...do...something. The tremble got worse. He couldn't remember. He looked to the Reverend for direction. 

The Reverend looked annoyed at him, and he cringed. He was holding a knife. Why was he holding a knife? _Don’t drop the knife!_ The Reverend took him by the elbow and walked him to the table. A man was on the table.

“Kill him.” Duke raised the knife. The man’s mouth was taped shut, but Duke could see his eyes. His eyes. They were... Not now. Not yet. But… _Not now_. He heard loud sounds from somewhere nearby. He should know what those sounds meant. The knife slowly lowered as he tried to understand. 

“Kill him, now!” Duke startled when he heard the Rev shout, and the knife clattered to the floor behind the table. _Don’t drop the knife!_

Duke dove to the floor searching for it. It was dark in this corner, the light from the single bulb barely penetrating. He ran his hands over the floor frantically. He heard running and shouting behind him. McKee! He couldn't breathe. _It was gone_. Sweat plastered his hair to his face, in his eyes. Quiet movement behind him now. They were going to drag him out. _Put him on his knees._ It was gone. It _couldn't_ be gone. It was--there! 

He held it tightly-- _Don’t drop the knife!_ \--and stood up, smiling. He looked for Reverend Driscoll, but didn't see him. The panic bubbled up. He didn't know what to do. Nothing looked right. _Kill him, now!_ He looked at the table, but the man was gone from the table.

“Duke?” _Go away, go away, go away!_ “Put the knife down, Duke!” He frowned. She didn't usually sound so bossy. _Don’t drop the knife!_

He shook his head. He wasn't supposed to talk to her. His fingers felt numb and everything was starting to feel distant again. He peered around the room. Where was everyone he was used to seeing? Who were all these other people. Uniforms. That was important, right? He _knew_ this. He knew this...

“Duke.” That was Nathan, but it was all wrong. He sounded...nice, and he was across the room. 

Nathan was only nice to him when he was...dying. Oh god. He was waving a knife in a room full of cops. He suddenly saw the guns pointed in his direction. 

“Duke, look at me,” Nathan said. Once he’d finally managed to force his eyes to stop darting every direction and look at Nathan, Nathan said, “Put the knife on the table.”

_Don’t drop the knife!_

He lowered his hand to the table, sweat stung his eyes. He couldn't let go. He looked back at Nathan. “That’s it. Just take a step back from it, now.” Nathan was the right voice. He had to let go. The knife rattled against the table as he tried to release it. 

A hand touched his arm. McKee! _Kill him, now!_ He gripped the knife and slashed at the arm attached to the hand. Hands were on his wrist bending it back until he dropped the knife. Blood. Get the blood and he’d be strong enough to kill McKee. He heard shouting, but he didn't care. He was done.

He attacked the arm he’d cut. He got the blood and felt it starting to flood his system when new pain hit. Only it wasn't right. Not the same. He could feel the tug of something in his chest. He rolled away from McKee who was very still--dead?--and touched the wires coming from his chest. He followed them with his eyes.

“Audrey?” He was touching something of hers. She was real? “You’re here?”

“Yeah, Duke, I’m here.” She was inching toward him, and he flinched, but forced himself to stay put out of habit.

“Don’t get too close, Parker.” Nathan said. Where was Nathan? He looked around slowly, still not entirely sure this was real.


	13. Rescue

 

 

Nathan watched as the last of Reverend Driscoll’s men was dragged from the room. The man tied to the table, Jim Simpkins, had been escorted outside to be transported to the hospital with the rest of the Troubled they had rescued. Which just left him with one problem.

Duke. Something was definitely wrong with the other man. He’d been standing over Simpkins with a knife, but he’d been shaking like a leaf and had dropped behind the table before they’d fully breached the room. He had thought that was just a self-preservation move at the time, but now he wasn't sure. 

He gave a nod to Audrey. A small hint of a smile. She’d been right. Duke was alive, and they’d found him with the other Troubled people who had been abducted from around town.

Then Duke stood up and stepped to the end of the table. He was holding the knife and grinning. Nathan had a sudden image of a puppy fetching a stick. 

“Duke?” Audrey said from about ten feet to his left. Duke definitely heard her. The smile faded from his face, but he didn't even glance in her direction. He took a step forward, holding the knife in front of him; holding it more like he was showing he had it than threatening.

“Put the knife down, Duke.” Audrey ordered. He still didn't acknowledge her, instead scanning the room, without actually seeming to see any of it. Duke's facial hair had grown out into a thin beard, but the hair didn't hide the sharpness of his cheekbones. His eyes were ringed with dark circles and were dull, glassy. Duke shook his head as if trying to clear it. Several officers pulled their weapons as Duke stepped forward again.

“Duke,” he said softly. Duke actually glanced in his direction before his eyes resumed scanning the room. He saw the moment some understanding entered. Duke looked at the knife and then at the police weapons pointed at him. The knife wavered as he started trembling. 

“Clear the room,” Nathan said quietly to Audrey. She nodded and handled it. Duke looked close to bolting. 

“Duke, look at me,” Nathan said in that same soft tone that had gotten through to him before. It took a few seconds, but Duke’s eyes were finally mostly on his.

He tried to look encouraging. “Put the knife on the table.”

It was a struggle. He could see it playing across Duke’s expression and body language. He was hyperventilating, sweating, and the trembling had gotten worse. He’d gotten the knife down to the table, but hadn't managed to release it.

“That’s it. Just take a step back from it, now.” The knife rattled against the table with Duke’s effort to release it. Okay, enough. He closed the gap and took Duke’s hand to move him away from the table. 

Faster than he would have guessed possible from watching Duke thus far, Duke had gripped the knife and slashed at his arm. He gripped Duke’s wrist and twisted until the knife fell to the floor. 

“The Hell is wrong with you?” he shouted. He heard Parker calling for paramedics. Nathan spared a glance at his arm and saw blood dripping from his fingers. He saw Duke eyeing it also, and wondered how he’d managed to not get any of it on Duke already. They really didn't need a Hulk situation here. 

Duke grinned with obvious malice and tackled him, clawing and tearing at his arm. Then Nathan was blinking uncontrollably. When it stopped his limbs weren't responding as quickly as they should. 

He saw Duke roll off him and away. He was touching the probes and wires of the taser Audrey had hit him with. “Audrey?” He looked at her with wonder. “You’re here?” His voice was hoarse and barely audible. 

Nathan slowly sat up, as Audrey said, “Yeah, Duke, I’m here.” She took a step closer and Nathan noted how Duke flinched and his body language was back to telegraphing the desire to bolt.

“Don’t get too close, Parker,” Nathan said pushing himself to his feet. She nodded, but took another step closer anyway. Duke’s expression was confused again. Nathan just hoped that he wouldn't decide to attack while he was still Hulked out on blood.

About that time Duke’s eyes shifted from silver to brown. He collapsed in a heap. 

Nathan gave a nod to the paramedics hovering by the door. One pair of them stopped at Nathan and the other went to Duke.

Nathan tolerated the exam with as much grace as he could muster, which wasn't much at this point. It was no surprise when the conclusion after the bandaging was in place was that he needed to be seen at the ER for stitches and X-rays. He doubted it was broken, but without a pain diagnostic, he got x-rays.

He stepped closer to see what was going on with Duke, and to be available in case Duke decided to attack anyone else. In the few minutes it had taken to wrap his arm, tie it to his chest, and do a neurological field exam that would not have been needed for a normal person, they had put a cervical splint on Duke, gotten him on his back, cut off his shirt, attached a pulse-ox and ECG leads, and put an Oxygen mask on him. Nathan could see Duke's ribs all the way to his sternum. His collar bones and hips were just as prominent. As Nathan watched, Duke‘s eyes opened, but he didn't seem to be looking at anything.

Audrey stood just outside the circle of movement, looking anxious. He hated to do it, but someone had to supervise the scene here, and thanks to Duke it wasn't going to be him for the next few hours.

“Parker, I'll ride in with Crocker. Make sure he doesn't attack anyone else. You got this?”

She looked at his arm tied securely to his chest, back to Duke, and then he saw her pull herself together--straightening her shoulders, muscles tightening in her jaw--and she said, “I'll pick you up as soon as I'm finished up here.” Then she marched--he didn't have a better way of describing that stiff walk--outside to supervise.

He stepped into the place that Audrey had been occupying just outside the sphere of medical activity. 

“Mr. Crocker. My name’s Joseph and I’m here to help.” Duke gave no sign he’d heard the man. “Duke. I need you to look at me,” Joseph continued. 

Duke’s eyes moved slowly to Joseph’s face. “Good, good. N--”

The second the man said good, Duke began flailing his arms. He knocked the mask off. There didn't seem to be any goal, just panicked flailing. The woman had just finished taping an IV into place on the back of his hand, and that was ripped out.

The paramedics managed to hold his arms down, but he twisted and thrashed, knocking more medical paraphernalia loose, and hyperventilating like he had been before he attacked. Nathan joined the fray, controlling one arm to free up a paramedic. 

“N-Nathan?” Duke croaked, and immediately went still.

Everyone cautiously eased the pressure they were exerting. Duke didn't move. 

“You-- You’re outside. F-feel you. Only nice to me when…” His voice gave out.

“You’re going to be okay, Duke. These guys are here to help get you somewhere safe. They have to touch you, but they’ll tell you what they need to do first.” Nathan glanced at the man and woman, who nodded. “Can you stay calm and let them help?” 

Duke blinked slowly, and said, “Calm.”

Nathan released Duke’s arm and started to step back. As soon as he released, Duke looked more agitated, squirming and moving his arms.

The woman grabbed Nathan’s hand and put it back on Duke’s arm. “You don’t let go. Understand?” 

Duke had stopped moving and was staring at Nathan again. It was more than a little disconcerting, but if it kept the people around him safe, then he’d play human pacifier for the time being. He nodded to the woman.

“I’m Noelle. Can you tell me your name?” the woman said to Duke. 

Duke honestly looked like he had to think about it, before finally, slowly, saying, “Duke Crocker.”

Apparently, having caught that the word ‘good’ had set him off before, she only nodded, and said, “And where are we?” Duke blinked a few times, and began to tremble.

“He doesn't know,” Nathan said, “Hostage like the others. He won’t know the date either. Ask something else for orientation.”

“Umm…” She pointed to herself and her partner. “What is our job?”

“...help.”

“That’s right. You are dehydrated and Joseph needs to start an IV. The IV is going to make you feel better. He’s going to be touching your arm. That’s an alcohol wipe. Next there’ll be a stick. It won’t last long... And it’s done.” 

She talked Duke through them putting an IV in his calf, putting the Oxygen mask and monitoring equipment back on, getting a finger stick for blood sugar, and a blood pressure reading. Throughout the process, she tried asking him to do several things, but he mostly blinked at her and remained still. One of the IV bags was changed after the glucose monitor beeped. Nathan saw them looking at their monitoring equipment and giving him several medications through the IV, but Duke didn't notice.

“We’re going to use the scoop board to transfer--less movement,” she said looking at Nathan. “All right, Duke! We’re going to get you out of here.”

He didn't respond, so they went ahead with getting the board under him and ready to move. 

Nathan had to let go of Duke’s hand to manage the awkward feat of standing with no sensation and his balance thrown off by one arm being restrained. By the time he had gotten to his feet, the paramedics were holding Duke down again as his eyes darted frantically and his arms flailed. The strength in his struggling had dropped considerably from earlier, and he suspected that one of the things they had put in the IV was to calm him down. 

Nathan reached out to touch Duke’s forehead. Duke went from a silent, generally ineffectual struggle to the desperation of a cornered wild animal. The woman lost her grip and staggered back from a push. Nathan caught the thrashing hand. 

“Duke! It’s Nathan! Look at me. You’re safe. We’re taking you out of here. Calm down and let us help you.” He had finally captured Duke’s attention. The paramedics pulled the board free and fastened the straps on the stretcher, holding him in place. Nathan kept talking to him. “Almost done moving you around. Calm, breathe slowly. That’s it. Calm. A little more moving, and then a ride, okay? You can do this.” 

Nathan kept talking as they rolled to the ambulance, but he didn't miss the way several of the Troubled from the group still waiting outside gasped and shrank back as they saw Duke’s face. Nathan couldn't help but think of the way Duke had been approaching Simpkins with the knife raised. Nathan made sure he wasn't gritting his teeth. He didn't want a sudden mouth full of blood from being unaware he was biting his tongue. They were terrified, Duke was clearly out of his mind, and given all the Troubles involvement in this case, he’d likely not ever get to send the bastards responsible to be prosecuted.

Nathan saw Audrey gasp as they went past, and even he had to admit that the Oxygen, monitoring equipment, IVs and straps combined with Duke’s off color, sunken eyes, beard, and the terrible amount of weight he had dropped looked bad. He trusted that she’d keep herself together and do her job, though. 

They made it into the ambulance without another freak out. He sat on the bench, leaning forward from the restraint of the seat belt to continue holding Duke’s hand. If anyone had ever told Nathan that holding his hand would be the only thing able to calm a delirious Duke Crocker, he might have punched them--definitely would have scoffed--and yet here he was. 

He’d heard the woman rattle off their findings over the radio, but he hadn't caught most of it, except that it didn't match what he was used to hearing. Having been a frequent passenger in the last couple of years, he was used to the numbers they tended to throw out about him, but he wasn't really sure how much change person to person was typical. He’d always just wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, and had never asked what those numbers and letters actually signified. Now with Duke clinging to his hand like a limpet and staring at him as if somehow just seeing Nathan made everything right in his world, he couldn't blurt out, “What’s wrong with him?”

After a few more minutes, Duke seemed to perk up a bit, and Noelle asked him his name, age, and address, and a few other questions, and he actually answered them. Nathan gave her nods to confirm that Duke was answering correctly. Duke told her he didn't normally have any health problems. She seemed particularly interested to know if he was diabetic. He told her he was fine for now except his throat hurt and he was tired. Nathan didn't see how ‘fine’ could describe what he was seeing, but maybe this was just that much of an improvement over the Rev’s hospitality. Duke was still clinging to Nathan’s hand, but he seemed to be doing better.

Then she asked “Duke, how long has it been since you last ate?” 

His color immediately dropped,and he began breathing faster. She tried telling him he didn't have to answer, but Duke was staring off into space, not seeing or hearing them. “I Cut them. Monster." He gasped and his whole body twisted spasm-like. "Kill her.” His eyes met Nathan’s with an expression of pure desperation. “I'm not a killer. I can't kill them.” 

"I know you're not a killer," Nathan tried to get Duke's attention back to now. "You're not a monster, Duke. I know you're not."

Duke stared right through Nathan. “Touching me. Don’t drop the knife!” By now he was sweating and shaking, and the heart monitor showed his heart rate at 173. Noelle injected something into the IV. Duke wasn't struggling now, just seemed desperate to communicate. “Five days? Kill, kill him. _Touching_ me!" Nathan could see Duke's hand clutching his own so tightly that both their fingers were turning white. "Kill me. Please. Please.” He was gasping for air by now and his voice trailed off, but his lips were still moving, forming "Please" again and again. Noelle was putting adhesive defibrillator pads on Duke’s chest, while on the radio reporting the changes.

“Duke, Duke! It’s over. They aren't going to hurt you anymore.” Nathan leaned further to put himself more firmly in Duke’s line of sight.

Duke finally stopped and focused. “Nathan? You were never--.” Then his eyes rolled up and he passed out. 

The heart monitor was still racing. The hospital ordered more medications to be tried, which Noelle administered. Duke’s heart rate slowed, but his breathing suddenly became shallow and extremely slow. Ninety seconds ago Nathan had been thinking how much better Duke looked. 

“I've sedated him. This is a King LTS-D. I put it in his mouth like so, inflate those cuffs, check for placement with the bag, and attach the ventilator.” Nathan wasn't sure if she was specifically narrating for his benefit or if she’d just gotten stuck on it from earlier, but he was glad. Knowing what was going on made it easier to watch. 

She placed her stethoscope in several places along Duke’s chest and sides and listened. “Good breath sounds, no ventilation sounds in the stomach. Heart rate has stabilized.”

He waited while she reported this and the other vital signs on the radio, then said, “We’ll be there in a couple of minutes?”

“No. We’re taking him to Camden." She looked directly at Nathan. "He’s going to be all right. They have a better critical care unit there.”

Nathan watched the ventilator regulated rhythm of Duke’s chest rising and falling. He hadn't even known Duke was being held by the Rev. Until they’d found the Cape Rouge he’d really thought Duke had just deserted them. Then he’d been pretty certain the other man had been killed and dumped overboard during one of his smuggling runs. Audrey hadn't given up, though, even managing to convince him that Duke might be alive and held with the others. 

He could let go, lean back, ride more comfortably. Not that it would hurt him to ride like this, but tomorrow parts might not respond like he expected them to, if he pushed them too far today. Duke was out. It wasn't like he’d know. It would be the smart thing to lean back and not abuse his body. He looked at his hand. It was still wrapped around Duke’s.

Duke was alive to annoy him, to play poker for counterfeit money with for a few hours, to do something patently illegal and get away with it, to watch their backs at his own risk and cost. 

It was complicated, and Duke was alive to keep it complicated. He adjusted his grip on Duke’s hand. He wasn't letting go just yet.


	14. Suspicion

 

 

Nathan’s phone rang just as he was walking out to the lobby. He looked at the placard that had the picture of a cell phone with the universal ‘no’ sign over it, and answered anyway on his way out the door.

“Wuornos.”

“Where are you? Haven General says they never got the two of you.” Audrey sounded worried.

“Camden.”

“Why did they take you to Camden?” He could hear the ‘What happened?’ in her voice.

“They have a better critical care unit here.” He knew he should say more than that, but the words stuck in his throat.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Stitches. Antibiotics. No broken bones. No MRI, so that’s a win. It’s Duke.”

“I didn't think it was that serious. He was moving fine when he jumped you.” her voice was angry. She’d been angry with Duke a lot since his aborted attempt to con information out of the Rev.

“He’s not fine. I was about to try for an update.”

“We got the last of the Troubled we found in the cells triaged and off-scene. None of their Troubles are particularly dangerous. All traumatized and a little dehydrated. Several have knife wounds, but none very serious. Nathan, they all agreed that Duke is the one that cut them.”

“I…suspected that.”

“It was always for the blood, Nathan. Every one of them described the look on his face. He enjoyed their blood.” He could hear the revulsion in her voice. “You saw how he went after your arm. If he’s addicted to it, we've got a big problem.” She sighed. “It’s probably good he’s in Camden. Some of the victims want _his_ blood.”

Was that really it? Was Duke out of his mind from addiction to the blood? No. No. He had been terrified. That ‘ _Don’t drop the knife!_ ’ and the way he kept saying _Touching_. Really unpleasant warning bells were ringing in his mind. And the final, _kill me_ , was the worst. 

“Nathan? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, sorry. I think there’s more going on here than what’s on the surface, Audrey. He's really not fine.”

“Did Duke have any injuries on his arms or stomach?" He was having a little trouble keeping up with her jumps. He didn't think she was really hearing him, but maybe if he had been the one talking to victims for the last couple of hours, he'd not be listening either. "Anything that would bleed?”

“No. Nothing except where he pulled out an IV.”

“EMS cut his shirt off and left it here. The sleeves and front are covered with old blood, Nathan. They never saw him restrained or assaulted--” and there were those warning bells ringing again. “--or even threatened. The Rev handed him a knife, ordered him to cut them, and he did it.”

“Did you talk to a woman he was ordered to kill?”

“None of them mentioned orders to kill, but we still have three Troubled unaccounted for. Adriana Gulf, Karen Weiss, and Ian McKee.” Nathan recognized the names as belonging to Troubled who had disappeared outside the time frame of the others. Now that they’d found Duke, the time frame was shot all to hell. “Stan is searching the grounds with his dog right now. No results, but it’s a lot of ground to cover, and I didn't want to bring in out-of-towners on this.”

“Go--smart." A flash of Duke panicking had him shifting his word choice. "You have officers posted at the hospital?”

“Two. It’s all we can spare for any length of time.”

“I’m going to need a ride back to Haven later, and a change of clothes. Someone needs to be posted with Duke as well. I’m here, so I’ll take the first shift. No use pulling anyone else off-duty.” He saw a man in scrubs approaching him purposefully. “Looks like there’s a doctor here wanting to talk to me.”

“I’ll call with updates,” she said

Nathan pressed the end call button, and watched as he slid the phone into it’s pouch on his belt.

“You rode in with Duke Crocker?”

“Yes. Nathan Wuornos, chief of Haven PD.” He tilted his badge up on his belt.

“Dr. John Sinclair. Are you here in an official capacity, Chief?”

He gestured to his injured arm. “Not at the moment. I've known Duke since we were kids.” 

“We need to ask you a few questions regarding Mr. Crocker’s current condition. Would you mind coming inside to a private area?”

“I’ll help where I can.” He followed Sinclair into an exam room.

“I need to verify the patients recent medical history and any information you have regarding the precipitating events that resulted in him being here is vital.” Nathan wondered again just how sick Duke was to make this doctor sound so worried, but he didn't know the guy, maybe he always sounded like that.

“As far as I know he is, or was anyway, perfectly healthy. I don’t know of any allergies, but I can’t guarantee that. We found no prescription medications or receipts for them when we searched the _Cape Rouge_ or the Gull.” Seeing the confused look on the doctor’s face, Nathan reminded himself that this was an outsider. “He lives on a boat, the _Cape Rouge_ and owns a bar and grill, The Grey Gull. They were searched as part of the investigation into his disappearance.”

“No known prescriptions or preexisting conditions, unknown on allergies” Nathan saw that Sinclair was actually taking notes. “Any known history with drug or alcohol abuse?”

Nathan thought of all the empty bottles they’d found on the _Rouge_ , and all the times he’d seen Duke start drinking in response to stress, like at Audrey’s birthday party. “I've never known him to do drugs, but it wouldn't surprise me if he has. He left town for years. He drinks though. A lot. More so recently than in the past.”

Why did this trigger some sort of protective reflex in him? He didn't like Duke. Remember? He shouldn't be concerned over how much the man had been drinking lately. It wasn't his problem.

"Do you know what his weight was before he was abducted?" Sinclair asked.

Nathan shrugged. "He's basically the same height as me. I'm about 150 pounds. He had a more obviously muscular build, so probably heavier." It wasn't like he spent a lot of time looking. It was just that Duke made it a habit to wander around half-dressed. Nathan shook his head. That didn't even sound like a valid excuse in his _head_.

“What can you tell me about the current situation?”

Nathan thought for minute. He couldn't bring the Troubles into this, and he wasn't sure yet how it was going be ‘cleaned’ by the Teagues and Dwight.

“This is part of an ongoing investigation. I can’t tell you much. He was apparently abducted and held against his will beginning between three and six and a half weeks ago. Circumstances prevent better dating than that.”

“I’d like you to tell me what you saw today. Details of physical and mental status could be important.”

Duke's 'physical and mental status' had Nathan rattled, and this doctor with his clipboard and questions wasn't helping. “You...really don’t have any idea what’s wrong with him do you?” Nathan said with more sharpness than he intended. 

Nathan saw the flash of stress in the doctor’s eyes. “There are many things that could be causing his symptoms. The faster we narrow it down, the faster he gets targeted treatment.” 

“Okay, when I first saw him, I immediately thought something was off in his body language, the look on his face. He was kind of grey, glassy-eyed, sweating, trembling, hyperventilating, not responding quickly to verbal engagement. He had a knife, which I told him to put down. He wouldn't--no, he couldn't--release it. I tried to help him, and he attacked.” Nathan indicated his arm. 

“With the knife?”

“At first. I forced him to drop it. Then he attacked with his hands, and was tased by my partner. He lost consciousness for several minutes. Then…” Nathan thought about how sluggishly Duke’s eyes had moved and wondered if Audrey’s theory was the right. It was a reaction to the drug effect Troubled blood had on Duke? “He made eye contact when asked sometimes. Sometimes made no response. Several times seemingly innocuous things set off a, basically, a panic reaction.”

“What things?”

“The word ‘good’, reaching toward his forehead without warning. Asking him when he last ate. When he talked it never quite made sense, and his voice was weak--”

“Describe that, please.” He had the doctor’s full attention on this one. No note taking at the moment. 

“Hoarse. Like he was about to lose his voice. Also, like he was speaking in a loud whisper, instead of a normal quiet voice. I could hear him breathing, even when he wasn't hyperventilating.” Dr. Sinclair nodded, and waved for Nathan to go on. “He seemed surprised to see me several times. Like he had forgotten I was there. I got the impression he wasn't quite sure we were real, and every time I let go of him, he panicked. In the ambulance, he started looking better and answering questions for a couple of minutes before he had another panic episode and had to be sedated.” 

He really didn't want to be thinking this, but it was his job. “I think you should run a rape kit as part of your work-up.” Sinclair looked up sharply at that and nodded. “If there’s evidence I want it collected. And that is being said as the Chief.”

“Thank you for your help, Chief.” Dr. Sinclair held his left hand out to shake. Nathan appreciated the gesture. Most people forgot and had to switch when confronted with someone not able to shake with their right hand.

“He could still be a target. I’ll be arranging to have police protection for a few days. Until arrangements with Camden PD have been made, that’s me.”


	15. Complicated

 

 

“I’m not asleep,” Nathan said as Audrey waved a cup of coffee under his nose. “I heard the elevator ding, heard you walk out, and smelled this.” He opened his eyes and took the coffee from his partner. “Can I drink this?” he asked hopefully.

“I picked it up in Haven. It’s stone cold now. Perfectly safe.” She grimaced at the chair he was sitting in. “How long have you been sitting in this thing?”

“Not long. I've been doing patrols around the floor to help stay awake.”

“We had to call the search until the dog has had some sleep.” She shrugged in a what can you do? sort of way. “I brought your spare clothes from the office, and a sandwich, too. Owens is downstairs getting to know the hospital security staff, so he can relieve you.”

Nathan had downed half the coffee and unwrapped the sandwich by the time she had finished. He was famished, but still had to eat slowly to avoid biting his tongue or cheeks.

“Update on the rest of the progress?” He said eyeing the sandwich hopefully.

“Eat, Wuornos. All of the victims have been held at the hospital for overnight observation. Lucassi is on it. We've got counseling set up for them afterward. Vince and Dave are keeping it out of the papers for now. All the other victims’ stories are lining up. They were snatched with overwhelming force. None of them have aggressively dangerous Troubles, and some of them weren't even activated before this. The weakest and most vulnerable were definitely the targets.”

Nathan scowled, but kept chewing. She seemed to be gathering for something unpleasant.

“I interviewed all the women again. Margery Wilson. Duke was ordered to kill her several days ago. He didn't do it. She said he had no hesitation with cutting her and taking her blood. She was sure she was going to die.”

He swallowed and said, “But he refused to kill her.”

“Yeah." she grimaced. "That doesn't mean that we don’t still have a problem. Duke was following the Rev's orders and they all said he _enjoyed_ getting the blood. You know what happened with his father. How can we be sure he hasn't turned?” 

"What happened when he refused?"

"They took her back to her cell. She said she didn't see anything. I asked her why she didn't tell me the first time I talked to her...and she started crying. I couldn't get anything else out of her."

Nathan finished his sandwich. Maybe tomorrow after he had slept, he’d be able to think about this rationally. To stop thinking so much about the way Duke had clung to him. Parker could be right. Duke seemed to think she was. Nathan shook his head. He wasn't going to condemn a man, not even Duke, based on something he said while delirious.

He felt the back of Audrey’s hand touch his forehead. “Are you okay? You’re kind of zoning on me.”

He batted her hand away. “It’s what, 4 AM, Parker? How are you so awake?” He drained the rest of the coffee.

“More coffee than any one human should consume.” She smiled. “I caught a short nap earlier when there was nothing left for me to do but wait. Knew I had to drive out here for you. Okay, you’re done eating, right? So how is Duke?” 

“Come on, I’ll show you. They've done a lot of tests. Good news is no major injuries. No broken bones.”

“That heavily implies there is bad news,” she said. He noticed she was practically running to keep up with him, and he slowed a bit.

“They’re saying it’s exhaustion, starvation, dehydration, and stress. They said some of the test results show numbers that usually mean severe chronic pain.”

“So we just passed the sign for ICU, why is he in ICU?” He couldn't blame her really. He’d had pretty much the same reaction. Then they’d explained the times likely involved and it started making more sense.

The ICU was down a long hallway, and had a double entryway. Visitors entered the first set of doors, applied paper gowns and masks and scrubbed hands before being allowed through the second set. They could see Duke through the small window, and this was way outside of visiting hours, so he made no move to enter. He’d explained about the police protection, and the nurses had agreed it was okay for him to peek through the window twice an hour.

The hallway was the only way to access the ward, so he could have just guarded from there, but he’d felt the need to reassure himself that Duke was still there. He pointed out the bay Duke was in, across from the doors. The nurse he had talked to before gave him a brief nod of acknowledgement, which he returned. 

Parker had her hand over her mouth, and had gone very still.

“He said five days when they asked him when he had last eaten. They think that’s probably the last time he got any real sleep, too. Probably inadequate food and sleep before.”

“Is that a ventilator?”

“Had to sedate him. They're worried about his heart. Going to keep him under for a couple of days to give his body time to reset. They’ll ease up some in the morning. Enough to get him off the ventilator.”

“We need to work on your communication skills, Wuornos. This is not in the ' _not fine_ ' range of things.”

“Parker." He put his hand on her shoulder. "He’s going to be okay.”

She nodded and looked like she wanted to say more, but instead left the vestibule. Nathan followed her to meet Owens and brief him. By the time they made it to the car it was after 5 AM, and Nathan had been up for over twenty-four hours. He stumbled stepping down from the curb prompting Audrey to take him by the elbow.

“I’m fine, Parker,” he said, but he didn't shake her hand off his arm either.

“Yep, and we’re almost to my car.” She didn't move her hand and he smiled when he thought she wasn't looking. 

He relaxed almost immediately once he was in the car. Truthfully, he probably would have slept before now, but couldn't let himself be so vulnerable in a public space. 

He was almost asleep when Audrey said, “It doesn't change that he was working with them. Even unwillingly, it’s going to get back to the Guard that he’s been taking blood, and some of the taken aren't going to think twice about emphasizing everything that’s going to make him look like a monster.”

“Can’t say he’s not, Parker. Who knows what effect the blood is going to have on him long-term.”

She gave him a funny look. “I thought you were on the side that he’s another victim here?”

“This is Duke. It’s complicated. Couldn't possibly be anything else with him involved.”


	16. Justice

 

 

Nathan slept on the way back to Haven. Then convinced Audrey to drop him off at the police station, so he could get his truck. He watched her pull away, heading toward her apartment above the Gull to sleep. Fatigue made it harder to compensate his balance, but he managed. He checked in with the officers on night shift, made a visual inspection of the prisoners, and then headed to his office. He locked the door, set his alarm for 7:30, and allowed himself to fall asleep leaned over his desk.

He woke to the alarm blaring in his ear, though he knew he had the volume set low enough that no one outside would hear it. He was already wearing his spare clothes, so nothing to help the slightly rumpled look. The chief’s office had the perk of having a small bathroom, and he carefully shaved and cleaned up. He almost didn't look like he’d slept less than three hours in the last twenty-seven, and none of those in a bed. It’d have to do.

He left his office to conduct the morning briefing, and assign tasks. Stan and Gibson were to go back to the site with the dog. He and Audrey--later for her, at least one of them had to get some sleep--would finish taking statements. Owens’ partner Miller would be heading to Camden where the two of them would trade shifts and stay in a nearby motel until they pulled protection off Duke. That left Garret and Thompson on regular duties. 

The coffee he had poured before the briefing began should be cool enough to safely drink by now, so he took it and the stack of reports his officers had handed him back to his office. The prosecutor, Samuel Douglas, was waiting just outside his door. He was a member of the Rev’s church.

“You better hope that your case is airtight, Wuornos!”

Nathan opened his door and motioned the man inside ahead of him. Yeah, this case was going to be full of more holes than a sieve by the time the Troubles had been cleaned out of it. His paperwork leading up to the raid was impeccable, though.

“You know everything that led to the raid yesterday. You helped with the search warrants, yourself.” We never expected the Rev to be caught in the snare, the old fox, but he had been. That was an unpleasant thought. Had the Rev meant to be caught? There were fewer people at the old brewery than expected given the number of victims. Had he let finding Duke distract him from the real plot?

“How did you come to the conclusion that Reverend Driscoll was involved in perpetrating this crime and needed to spend the night in your jail, while Duke Crocker of all people has not been arrested for his involvement?”

“Mr. Crocker was transported by ambulance to Camden. He is currently in their ICU, with an officer in attendance.” He hadn't sorted out in his own mind what culpability Duke had in this mess, but there was no way he had voluntarily put himself in the state he was in.

“I didn't see anything in the reports regarding him resisting arrest,” Douglas said sniffing. Nathan could practically hear his father laughing at him from beyond the grave--not that far-fetched an idea in Haven. _This is what I must have sounded like to Audrey on that first case._

“Mr. Crocker was not injured resisting arrest. He was in a delirious state from not being allowed to eat or sleep for days. If you can find some way to make that sound like his own idea, I’ll gladly listen to your reasoning. You know I've never hesitated to arrest him in the past.”

“Bipolar manic state, cocaine, methamphetamine, seizures, medication reactions, encephalitis--” Nathan realized he was staring at the man, possibly with his mouth hanging open. “My nephew is bipolar, Chief, they tend to be thorough in ruling things out.”

“I’ll be getting a copy of the reports, but they assured me they had done a thorough workup to arrive at their diagnosis, Mr. Douglas. Now, did you come here just to ask me why I haven’t arrested Duke Crocker?” Nathan knew the man was here mostly to get the Rev out, but the talk about Duke had seemed to calm him back to a rational discussion level.

“Do you have direct evidence against Reverend Driscoll? Aside from my personal feelings, do you have any idea how difficult it will be to prosecute a man with that kind of standing in the community without ironclad proof. I have a re-election this year. I won’t prosecute him unless I know I am going to win.”

“Our preliminary interviews all point to him as being the one giving orders. We still have in-depth statements to take and more investigating to finish.”

“I've seen those initial interview reports, Chief Wuornos, the same reports place Duke Crocker as the individual responsible for multiple injuries. It is my strong recommendation that until you have sorted out his involvement and how that impacted the involvement of Revered Driscoll, that the Reverend be released.” Douglas stared at Nathan. The man had no intention of following through even an arraignment right now. Unless Nathan wanted outside assistance, like the state police or worse, the FBI--no way he’d luck out and get another one as useful as Audrey--he was stuck with this politician and this town that loved the Rev.

Nathan nodded.

“Now the other men you've arrested seem to have much more evidence against them. Enough to arraign later today. I’ll see you at court at 3 PM, Chief.” Having gotten what he wanted, Douglas was out already out of his chair and moving toward the door.

Nathan sighed. The only person who hadn't woke up this morning with a certainty that the Rev would soon be released was apparently him. He’d really hoped he’d be able to keep the old bastard behind bars a little longer at least. He slowly followed the prosecutor to the holding cells, and went through the process of releasing the Rev. The Rev's creepy smile as he walked out the door was going to haunt Nathan.

Back in his office, he dialed Dwight’s number.


	17. Awake

 

 

Duke felt something pressing on his legs. He was hot, and it hurt. He tried to reach down to pull it off, but his hands couldn't move. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. Sound. Beeping. A steady woosh of air on his face. Rattling. It was too much. Too much. He felt the pressure ease on his legs. He slid back under the heavy sleep.

The next time he managed to get his eyes open. He was warm. On something soft well above the floor. He couldn't move his arms. It wasn't bothering him yet. A woman he didn't know was sitting in the chair next to it his head. He flopped his head in her direction. 

“My name is Phyllis, and I’ll be your nurse this evening.” She was still talking, but he was already edging toward sleep.

He woke again. This time managing to keep his eyes open for a while, and thinking clearly enough to realize he was on a bed with curtains pulled along both sides, but beyond his feet he could see a wider space. A mask was on his face, blowing air--Oxygen--at him. He blinked and there was a woman standing beside him. He blinked again and she was gone. Hospital finally drifted through his mind. A man was standing in front of him. Stethoscope on his chest. A light in his eyes. The man was talking, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care enough to know what he was saying. He felt secure here, and he was just awake enough to know he might not feel that way once he was _really_ awake. 

He heard someone calling his name and opened his eyes again. When had he closed them? He found the same man standing beside the bed. Nothing else seemed to have changed. The mask was looser on his face and the air was blowing more gently. He could hear a heart monitor steadily beeping. Something was irritating his nose, so he tried to rub it, but his hands were still held down.

“Mr. Crocker. Can you look at me?” Duke stopped trying to pull his hands free, and looked at the doctor. “My name is Dr. Sinclair, and I've been supervising your care. You've been trying to remove the IV, so your hands have been restrained. Do you understand?”

Duke nodded. He finally felt like he was shaking off the effects of the sedation. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, Mr. Crocker.” Duke nodded again. “I am going to recite a series of letters. When you hear the letter A, squeeze my hand.” Duke nodded again. _Don’t antagonize the guy who has you tied to a bed_. Dr. Sinclair began slowly reciting, “S-A-V-E-A-H-A-A-R-T”. Duke was able to keep up, and pick out the A’s. The doctor picked up his chart and wrote something down.

“Excellent, Mr. Crocker. Now, you have a nasogastric tube in place, and an IV in your left arm. They need to remain in place. The Oxygen mask needs to stay on your face. You have a vocal cord hemorrhage, which requires complete voice rest, so try not to speak.

Duke nodded. That answered a few questions, but there were so many others. The Dr. released the straps on his wrists. Duke pulled his arms up to look at them. The right hand was fine. The left had a large bruise on the hand and another just above the wrist. He assumed that was where he had pulled IV’s. The IV was currently just below his elbow. He felt for his beard, but it was gone. He shot a confused look at the doctor.

“Unfortunately we were forced to shave you in order to properly fit the CPAP mask.”

Duke smiled. He had hated that beard. Hated how long it said he’d been a prisoner, and everything that that represented. He nodded at the doctor, hoping that the man would understand. 

“Are you feeling any pain?”

Duke thought about it to make sure. Even his throat felt comfortably numb. He shook his head. He wanted to know more, but could feel his eyelids getting heavy. How’d he get here? He had some vague feeling that Nathan had been involved. Which didn't make sense, Audrey was always the one that was going to come to his rescue. Why was he hooked to a heart monitor in what looked like an ICU? What the hell was a vocal cord hemorrhage, and exactly how long did they expect him to be quiet? Because not being able to talk now sucked. How long until he got rid of these tubes? 

“Mr. Crocker.” Duke focused on the doctor again. “Rest. I’ll be back later today to answer your questions.” Duke really wanted to protest, but he could feel the pull of sleep, so he nodded and let himself go.

Duke woke to find a nurse taking his blood pressure. It startled him, and he’d halfway pulled himself out of the bed, before he realized he recognized her as the nurse from earlier. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Crocker. I thought you heard me say I was going to check your blood pressure,” Phyllis said.

Duke slowed his breathing and listened to his heart rate slow via the monitor. He felt queasy and unsteady, but he slowly scooted back to the center of the bed and pushed his arm toward her. 

“I’m going to wrap the blood pressure cuff around your arm, Mr. Crocker.” She waited until he gave her a stiff nod before she actually touched him. 

_It was just because she startled you_ he thought. I’m fine. I’ll figure out when I can get out of here, and I’ll be fine. Like nothing happened. He took a good look at Phyllis. She was older than him, early forties maybe, dark hair pulled into a bun, athletic build. Overall, not a bad looking woman. All he could think was how much wanted her to be done touching him and to back off a few steps. How was that remotely fine? 

Phyllis must be a smart woman, because the second she finished taking his vital signs she took a step back. She was still within arm’s reach, but it was better without her quite so close.

“My name is Phyllis, and I’ll be your nurse the rest of the evening. The call button is right there on the rail beside you. Can you reach it?” He put his hand on it. “I’ll be right over there by the nurse’s station.” She pointed toward the large area beyond the foot of the bed that he hadn't really looked at too closely yet. Now that he was looking, he saw the Nurse’s Station less than twenty feet away. Two other nurses were sitting there.

The next thing she said elevated her to sainthood in Duke’s book. “I brought you a marker board,” she said, handing him a small board with a marker tethered to it.

He gave her his best smile. Well, it was probably not much more than a half smile, but he was out of practice, okay? He took the marker board and wrote, _Call me Duke._

“All right, Duke, how are you feeling?” Phyllis asked, smiling.

_Thirsty. No pain_.

Phyllis picked up a cup of ice chips from a table that he hadn't seen and fed him several spoonfuls. 

He wrote, _Why ICU?_

“You were having tachycardia--dangerously fast heart beat--that required monitoring in ICU, but you’re doing better now.”

_How long?_

“You've been here almost five days. It is 3:17 PM, June 20th.”

Duke dropped the board. That was…less than two months. It was longer than that. It had to have been longer than that. 

“Duke. Duke! Breath with me, okay. In and out. That’s it. Slow it down. There. You were hyperventilating.”

He nodded and accepted the board when she handed it back to him. He carefully rolled over. He was done talking for now. Phyllis took the hint and left.


	18. Liar

 

 

Duke learned from the doctor that they were concerned about possible electrolyte imbalances while re-feeding him, which required the continued close monitoring in the ICU. He was on a drug called a beta blocker, because they still weren't entirely sure that his heart was okay, and some other meds for anxiety, because they were very sure his panic and stress levels weren't good for his heart. What he had been on the first several days--the days where he blinked and things changed--was too strong for normal usage so something else was being tapered in. The high initial doses also explained the sense of safety and almost complete lack of ability to care about anything that he'd had at first. 

Phyllis hadn't been on shift since the night she gave him the marker board. Duke smiled at her when he saw her the third morning, and thought he'd almost managed a proper one this time.

"Good morning, Duke," she said. She still made sure to do most of her talking a couple of steps away from the bed, and Duke thought he might love her for it. The others were always closer, and it made him nauseous. She talked through the first of shift routine, and he was feeling pretty relaxed. Then she hit him with, "So it says here you haven't been interested in eating." 

He still had the tube in his nose feeding him. He really tried to not look too closely at the whole set-up, but it was there, part of the noise of the place. He had eventually realized that he never actually felt full. It didn't leave him with that empty hollow pain that came with no food, but he was never full either. With the others he had already been queasy from them being so close and touching all over him, and he didn't really want anything to eat. He had just agreed to whatever they'd been peddling to get them away from him. When confronted with the food he thought of the Rev and he had to fight to keep from puking. It was stupid. He was free. He was fine. _It was going to be like nothing happened_. 

Now, just like the other times, he thought about eating, and he thought of the Rev holding him, feeding him, _petting_ him. Duke looked at Phyllis desperately trying not to gag. He wasn't winning this time though. He had been so relaxed that the sudden strength of the reaction had him barely managing to roll partially onto his side before throwing up. Phyllis had a tray ready. He finally regained control, and dropped to the bed. He hit the bed rail with the palm of his hand, and turned his face to the pillow. He could do this. Couldn't he? The Rev was _not_ in charge anymore. He could choose to eat.

_Let's try again._ he told himself. He rolled over and saw that Phyllis had left a menu on the rolling tray, and a note on the marker board. It said, "You pick." A sense of relief came over him. His choice. His choice to eat. His choice of what to eat. The menu had typical hospital snacks pictured on a small laminated page. Jello was nothing like those food bars. He could choose to eat Jello.

Once it was in front of him, the thoughts returned. He closed his eyes and repeated, "I can do this. I win." Duke opened his eyes and quickly put a spoonful in his mouth before he could think. The flavor was like an explosion of taste. The intensity of tasting something, anything, with flavor wiped out thoughts of the Rev, and he ate the rest. That feeling of not being full, but not caring because it didn't hurt, evaporated into a stomach grumbling hunger. He hadn't actually _wanted_ to eat since shortly after he was taken. He made himself eat to survive long enough to be rescued, and when that hope had left him, he ate because he was told to, but he'd not _enjoyed_ eating anything since the last meal he had eaten at the Gull.

Winning the Jello War with his stomach was a turning point for him. He started speaking up for himself. Well, writing for himself, but that didn't have the same ring to it. He asked nurse's to take a step back when talking to him. He felt a bit like Conrad doing it, but they listened. He knew that the level of satisfaction he got from them listening to him was sort of sad, but it helped him feel more like himself again.

By the next evening, Duke was awake enough that he was very restless in ICU. He was ready to get rid of some tubes and wires and try taking some walks. Dr. Sinclair agreed with him being ready to move. By the time they had gotten him into the bed in his new room, he had revised his readiness for walking laps to a readiness for a nap and all he had done was sit in a wheelchair for five minutes. There was a TV in this room, which he immediately turned on after he woke up. Hearing so many voices was overwhelming, and he turned it back off after only a few minutes. 

It was a semi-private room, but he didn't have a room mate at the moment. He had thought that he was starting to get used to people again with the ICU nurses, but he quickly found that people walked past this door constantly. He couldn't see who was moving, and never knew until after they had gotten past whether they were coming into his room. At the same time, he was alone more throughout the day in this room. He had tried out his voice, and could only produce a raspy whisper. It wasn't really surprising. That's all he'd been able to manage since early on when he'd still thought he could be a smart-ass and get away with it.

Duke was awake again when the nurses changed shift at eleven. He loved being able to see the clock in this room. She did all the things that had become standard--blood pressure, pulse-ox, checking on the feeding tube and hooking up a new bottle of the gunk they were feeding him. He really tried not to pay attention to the part where they pulled stuff out of his stomach to make sure everything was in the right place. Finally she was done and stepped back.

"Is there anything else I can get you, Mr. Crocker?" He had already asked her to call him Duke. She was a young thing, barely looked old enough to be out of high school.

_Open the blinds?_ He hadn't seen the sun in over two months. He wanted this sunrise so badly it ached.

"Oh, the sun will be in your eyes in the morning if I do that. You don't want that, do you?" She said with a patronizing tone that he _so_ did not appreciate.

Duke tapped the board emphatically.

She rolled her eyes at him, but sullenly opened the blinds. He didn't see her again. A different nurse came in for the next set of vitals. The next morning, the rising sun woke him. Light was knifing through the window, right in his eyes. He sat up and stared as the world took on color and shape, and if some moisture ran down his face, it was clearly from looking at the too-bright light.

The following days were filled with activities and steadily increasing strength. At first he could manage just a few steps with two nurses supporting him, soon he was up to loops around the halls with one escort holding a gait belt secured around his waist, and finally he was taking himself and his best friend the feeding pump for walks. There were vitals to be taken every few hours, and meals and snacks. He seemed to always be hungry. He had already gained several pounds back. His belly button didn't look like it was attached to his spine anymore, and that was a big improvement. 

The medications had been fully switched now. He was more awake. More aware, and all those interruptions and activities still left him alone with himself far more than he liked. He found pockets of the day between meals and nursing interactions when he was too tired to hide from himself by wandering the halls, but he couldn't fall asleep. He had found out that he had been under police guard for the first several days, but that had been pulled. Nathan had ridden in with him, so at least he hadn't imagined that. What was real was hard to sort out from dreams and hallucinations near the end. 

After the police had been pulled off, no one had been here to visit. He had tried to call the police station to get Audrey or Nathan, but Laverne couldn't understand him, and he'd hung up. He didn't bother calling their cells. The police, even the two he liked, seemed to be done with him. At least he wasn't under arrest. If he had killed someone he'd be under arrest, right? 

He would have done it. It could be that he had. At the end he didn't even know who he was anymore. He remembered having to think, knowing he had a name, that it wasn't 'son', but not sure what it was. How could he know he hadn't killed for the Rev? He needed to know, but at the same time he was afraid to know.

There were flashes of Nathan holding his hand, telling him he'd be okay. He knew that Nathan had gotten him to the hospital. At least Nathan had cared enough to do that for him.

Duke shook his head. Feeling sorry for himself was stupid. He should be feeling sorry for the people he had hurt. He didn't have to wonder if that was real. He remembered looking them in the eye while he hurt them. People he had decided weren't as important to him as he was to himself. He had chosen to hurt them.

Hadn't he? Was it a choice? Was there some room at the forgiveness table for choosing to escape torture? If he had been a better man couldn't he have refused to become the monster?

And wasn't that the real kicker? Duke had always known he wasn't that good of a person. Definitely not as good a person as Audrey thought he was, but somehow being around her used to make him want to be that person she saw. Or had seen before he killed Harry Nix.

He couldn't even fool himself anymore that he had changed. Of course, he’d always thought of himself as mostly nonviolent. Violence was something that could be a necessary tool in his line of work, but it had never been something he’d pursued for fun. Not that he’d ever been reluctant to protect himself, but before he’d never purposefully hurt innocent people--except Nathan, his conscience threw in. 

When it came down it, he really was that guy that Nathan had always thought he was. He didn't particularly _like_ that guy. He never had, but he’d always had the luxury before of being able to tell himself that that wasn't him. Not really. He wasn't only looking for how he could use every person he met. All those eyes stared back at him.

He was a bigger liar than even he had thought he was.


	19. Early Release

 

 

A social worker came in to talk to him after the morning rounds one day. She asked him where he was going when he was released. Home seemed to satisfy her. The lack of details on how to get there bothered her. He had no clothes, no shoes, no ID’s, no money, no one to call for help, and he was stuck in Camden, but no one being close was what he’d always wanted. Right? He’d deal with this, just like he’d dealt with every other situation he’d gotten himself into over the years. Besides, If he was alone he couldn't hurt anyone. It was safer this way.

So why did it feel like a knife in his chest?

Then she had started giving him referrals to places like Crime Victims Assistance and Rape Counseling Center, and he was done with talking to her. He spelled it out clearly that he hadn't been touched _sexually_. She left the cards on his table anyway. He spent half an hour shredding them into tiny bits. He wasn't a _victim_. 

He wasn't.

He was going back to Haven. Back to the Gull. It should be fine, Tracy was a competent manager and handled most of the day to day operations anyway. The specials might not be so special without his side business contributions, but it was a solid business without them. He was going back and he was picking up where he left off. Maybe there wouldn't be so many distractions in his life involving helping with the Troubles, but was that a bad thing? He'd had a _life_ before Audrey dragged him into hers. 

The nurse came in and took the IV out of his arm. Duke tried really hard everyday to keep from thinking about blood. Still it haunted him in his dreams. Taunted him when he was awake. Reminded him constantly of what he'd done and how he had looked forward to that minute or two after touching it where he didn't hurt and didn't care. It bled when they took the IV out.

He kept staring at the bandage. A spot of blood showed through the gauze patch.

_The guy on the table couldn't have been more than nineteen. Just a kid._ I'm sorry _Duke tried to say with his eyes. He wanted to turn away. Throw the knife away, but McKee was behind him. He knew how to do this, he had cut Karen's arm several times. The first time she had had to hold his hand and cut herself while Tiny and Tim held him still, and afterward McKee had touched him for not doing it himself. She begged him to not make her watch that again, so the next time he took the knife and cut her. She_ thanked _him. This boy wasn't going to thank him. McKee cleared his throat. Duke glanced at him and saw that the man was pulling his glove off. Duke stopped thinking and put the knife to the boy's arm. He stared at the blood until McKee cleared his throat again._

Dr. Sinclair walked in pulling Duke out of the memory. “Now, we’re aware of your transportation difficulty, so we've arranged for you to have a one-time access to MaineCare non-emergency patient transport. They’ll be here to pick you up when we get you to the front door, and will drop you off at your home address. Here’s a week of your prescriptions to give you some time to get your ID’s and money flow set back up, without interrupting your medication schedule.”

Duke blinked at the man. He was being discharged? Only yesterday Dr. Sinclair had said that he was stuck here until he was eating enough calories to gain weight without the feeding tube. Before Duke could write a question the doctor was speaking again. 

“The nurse will be in shortly to take you down stairs. Hospital policy, you have to leave in the wheelchair,” he added as if he was accustomed to patients protesting the necessity of it. “I've set up a follow-up appointment with Dr. Bradley in Haven, and sent your records from this stay over to him, like we discussed yesterday. Here’s a card with a reminder of the time and place.” Dr. Sinclair set the items on the table and was out of the room, before Duke could respond.

Duke was floored. Everything about Sinclair seemed off. The doctor had always been chatty, and careful to give Duke a chance to ask questions. He had always asked for Duke's input in the treatment, given him options. Maybe it was an administrative thing. He'd been here almost three weeks, maybe someone figured that was long enough, and Dr. Sinclair wasn't happy about it. It was unsettling whatever the cause.

He wanted to go home, but at the same time, the rhythms of the hospital had become normal. _Safe_. Haven...was Haven. _Calm down, Crocker._ he told himself. He could do this. It was always the plan. The plan was just accelerated, and he would deal with it. 

The nurse came in. It was one he hated. She seemed to operate on the belief that if he couldn't speak, that he was stupid. She briskly went about pulling the feeding tube. Not even giving him a chance to get a drink or cough to help it up. He managed to not puke on her, but it was a close thing. If it wouldn't have hurt his throat so much, he wouldn't have tried so hard. Duke didn't like being ignored. 

She left him a set of scrubs to change into. It was really nice to have something on that wasn't a gown and a robe. Going home in those would have been just plain embarrassing. 

It wasn't the first time he'd been outside. One of the nicer nurses had escorted him out to a little gazebo garden area a couple of times, but the breeze on his face still froze him with wonder for a second. The nurse gave the driver of the van his address, explaining that he couldn't speak. Then she was pulling on his arm to hurry him along into the van. He sighed and gave her a dirty look. At least he wouldn't have to deal with her again when he was out of here.

The driver grunted a greeting and then proceeded to ignore him all the way to Haven. The closer they got, the more nervous Duke felt. He concentrated on breathing exercises. He wasn't even going to try meditating-- _eyes_ \--but he could keep himself calm. Nothing had changed. He was _fine_. He could do this.

The driver pulled into the marina parking lot. There was his old Land Rover, right where he’d left it. The freedom represented by having access to his vehicle went a long way toward settling that nagging feeling that this early release was all wrong. He climbed out of the van and waved at the driver. He was already tired just from the ride.

First thing to do was check over the Rover. The door opened easily, as expected. Fingerprinting powder residue covered the interior. He checked the exterior to make sure he hadn't missed it. None there. This was old police work. Looks like they _had_ missed him at some point. One of his old man style sweaters was in the passenger seat. He put it on, and wrapped it tightly around his middle. It felt like home. He hadn't worn one since...

A sudden, intense panic jolted through him. He slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door, locking it behind him, and reaching across to lock the other side as well. He wrapped his arms tightly around his chest. And leaned the side of his head on the steering wheel. He could practically feel the taser probes in his back, and the pain of the shock that had felt so bad at the time. Thinking of how that shock paled compared to McKee’s touch had a compilation of images of McKee flashing behind his closed eyelids. His heart thumped in his chest, despite the medication. It was hard to breath. Which one was real? He could feel the steering wheel. He could feel the drainage grate at his knees...

TAP TAP!

It pulled him back. He could feel that one spring in the seat that wasn't quite right, the stuffy heat of the closed up Rover, the steering wheel pressing his ear to head, the sun hitting just one place on his knee making it hot. He drew in a deep breath.

Tap, tap, tap.

He sat up, and blinked in the bright light. Beattie was tapping his window. “Duke? Open the door,” she said insistently.

He opened the door, and she immediately took his arm and pulled him out. “Here, sit in the shade. What did you do, fall asleep in there? With all the windows up?”

He shook his head. 

“It must be over a hundred degrees in there. You’re lucky you didn't have a heat stroke. How are you feeling?” She stopped, as she seemed to suddenly realize that he hadn't said anything. She knelt down next to him. “Really, are okay? I thought you weren't coming back.”

He nodded, and pushed to his feet. He slid by her, leaning on the truck, and picked up his marker board from the seat. 

_Lost my voice._

She seemed to take in that he was wearing scrubs, slippers, and had a hospital bracelet still wrapped around his wrist.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn't know you’d been sick. When they found the _Cape Rouge_ , we all thought one of those shipments you’re always ‘forgetting’ to tell me about had caught up to you. If Nathan hadn't paid for your slip this month, I’m not sure what we would have had to have done with her."

Duke erased the board on his shirt and wrote, _WHAT?_

Her hands flew to her mouth for a moment before she lowered them and said, “Oh no! You didn't know that the _Rouge_ disappeared the same night you did?”

He shook his head emphatically, seriously missing his ability to make choice rude comments.

“She was found drifting out past McKinley’s spit two or three weeks after you left town. The Coast Guard towed her in.”

He hung his head. Those bastards had set his ship adrift, and judging by the condition of the Land Rover, the police would have been all over her, too. 

“Why don’t you come back to my office, Duke? I’ll get you some ice water. You should really drink something cold after being in that hot truck.”

A dread settled into his stomach at the thought of seeing his ship. They’d taken him from her deck, and then both them and the police had been who knows where all over her. He’d have to go over every inch of the ship before he would be comfortable again. He was suddenly very reluctant to see her. Beattie's delay would be welcome.

_Thank you._ He wrote.

Beattie motioned for him to follow, and he did. In her office, she turned the fan to blow on him, and handed him a glass of ice water. He shivered despite the heat when he took a long drink of the water. He stayed cold these days. She handed him papers to sign for the docking of the _Cape Rouge_. 

“How long until you get your voice back?” she asked when he handed them back.

_Couple of weeks, maybe._ He erased it on the shirt again and tried for more normal level of banter. _Be back to my charming self._

She shook her head with just a hint of the smile she used to have for him, when their only interaction was when he flirted and cajoled and avoided customs charges. It was a ghost of that smile though. Things were quickly getting back to the kind of awkward they had been ever since Jean’s birth. He wondered if the small collection of photos and letters her adoptive family had sent him was still safe on board the _Rouge_.

“I have something for you.” She pulled a manila envelope from her desk drawer. “Nathan left this here when we thought you were gone. He didn't want it to bring up too many questions.” She slid the envelope across the table.

He opened the flap and peeked inside. It was the letters and pictures. Yeah, he could see how that could point the investigation into his disappearance in a direction it didn't need to go. He met her eyes and nodded. They were united for just a moment in shared loss. Then it was over. He stood and gave her a salute, and walked out the door with a confidence that he didn't feel.

He allowed himself to slow down as soon as he was out of sight of Beattie’s office. He was tired. This was already more than he had moved in a long while. It wasn't just exhaustion, though, that dragged more and more at his steps the closer he got to the _Cape Rouge_. He was afraid to be on _his_ ship. His _home_. She had been his ticket to life and freedom since he won her on his twenty-first birthday, and he was afraid to be near her.

Duke was sick of being afraid.


	20. Normality, Please

 

 

Duke didn't have the energy to check over the _Rouge_ properly right now. _I’ll just get some clothes, weapons--definitely weapons--and go to the Gull._ Even though he had gone slowly, he had finally made it to his ship. He glanced around nervously, then mentally smacked himself for allowing it show. Still, he knew he saw no one lurking nearby.

Duke deliberately stepped onto the deck. He could do this. It wasn't hard. Yeah, and maybe if he told himself that a few thousand more times, he’d believe it. The deck was littered with broken glass, overturned furniture, and splintered crates. He picked his way through carefully, to avoid cutting himself through the thin hospital slippers. 

Once inside, he wasn't sure if he was relieved or...unsettled? That was it, he supposed. The living quarters were not in the kind of disarray that the deck had been, but everything had been moved. It was mostly in the right places, but his books were shuffled, things were out of place just enough that it set his nerves jangling. He knew the place had been searched. He’d been prepared for it to look in here like it did on the deck, but someone had cleaned up the mess.

On the table he found a large plastic evidence bag. In it were his wallet, car keys, and a few other personal items. Well that solved part of his problems right there. He checked his wallet carefully, and found the cash missing, but all his ID’s and other miscellaneous items were in place, except for the picture of Jean. He glanced at the manila envelope. He’d look later, but it was hopefully in there. 

He checked the clock. It was well past time for him to eat, but there was no way he could eat here. His stomach protested even the thought of food. Right, pack a bag and get out of here. He found clothes to change into, cut off the hospital ID bracelet, and threw a few changes of clothes and some toiletries into a bag. He checked a hidden compartment in the floor, and found it hadn't been tampered with. He smiled. Not all of his secrets had been taken from him. 

The cash he split between his wallet and his bag. He took the gun, spare magazines, and a single loose bullet from inside. He chambered a round, removed the magazine from the pistol, and added the loose bullet to the top before sliding it back in place. 

Duke didn't normally carry in Haven, but this was definitely a time that called for it. He was almost paranoid enough to leave it in the open, but found his paddle holster, instead. He had to adjust his belt tighter to keep the weight of the gun and magazines from pulling his pants down. These jeans had fit him snugly before. His loose sweater over the top was more than adequate concealment. Sure it was summer, but this was Maine, a knit sweater wouldn't look too out of place. The layers of shirts and the sweater also helped hide how thin he still was. 

There. He was starting to feel more like himself. Yeah, right up to the point where he looked around at the room that looked almost, but not quite, right. The sudden dry mouth, and renewed queasy feeling in his stomach told him it was time to go. 

Duke found the Gull open, but not busy. Being early Tuesday afternoon, this was a pretty good turnout. He definitely owed Tracy a bonus for keeping it all going without him. He gave the excuse that he’d come down with some rare but dangerous disease, and had been in the hospital in Camden all this time. He made sure that the unwritten implication was that he’d been recipient of someone’s Trouble, and that stopped most of the questions. No, he didn't know why the Haven PD hadn't been able to figure that out, or who had been responsible for the _Cape Rouge_ not being docked where she was supposed to be, but an appropriate scowl had promised that he’d find out and make them sorry. 

So, damage control was taken care of. Duke figured the whole town would have heard this version of events by tomorrow. He grabbed a cup of the soup of the day, and locked himself in his small office. The soup sat on the desk ignored, while he tried to keep himself from shaking apart. He didn't want people looking at him differently, so why did it hurt knowing that no one would know what happened? He took several deep breaths and let himself calm down. The story had already been set in motion. There was no shame in being nearly killed by a Trouble. Surviving that was more a badge of honor in this fucked up town than anything. 

He could do this. He’d keep quiet, let his voice heal. He rather liked the sound of his own voice, no way he was risking sounding like he was gargling gravel for the rest of his life. Then he’d carry on with his life. He was in charge, not the Rev and not McKee. He wasn't going to let them win by falling apart in public. He hadn't expected the strength of the panic earlier, but he was sure he could manage to get himself somewhere private before he got lost like that again.

Getting his life back in order. Right. First thing to accomplish that--paperwork for the Gull. There was a lot of paperwork to catch himself up on, forms and contracts to sign, financials and inventory to review, but eventually Duke found himself nodding off.

 

Knocking woke him up sometime later. He sat up slowly, groaning as he tried to work out the crick in his neck. Okay. Definitely going to have to install a peephole in this door. He didn't like not knowing who was knocking. He rubbed his neck. And something to make sleeping in here more comfortable, because ouch.

“Duke,” Tracy’s voice was muffled, but recognizable through the door. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Chief Wuornos is here. I told him you were busy, but he said it was important.”

Damn. He really didn't want to see Nathan right now. There were too many things he had come up with on the ‘How Duke Has Screwed Up’ list while in the water that had to do with him being an ass to Nathan. But they’d been getting along better lately damn it, and he was pretty ticked that the guy hadn't visited him in the hospital. He opened the door.

_Hand him this._ He pulled it back, erased it, and wrote, _Bugger off, Nathan._

“You sure?”

Duke handed her the board and nodded. He pulled two glasses and a bottle of scotch from a drawer took them to a table in the back corner of the kitchen. He didn't feel like being trapped with an angry Wuornos between him and the only exit. This gave him some room to maneuver. He didn't have long to wait. 

He heard Nathan stomping through the kitchen, stopping at his office, then continuing toward the back. He checked the view in the mirror above the back door. Nathan looked annoyed...and kind of generally like crap. Like he’d slept in his clothes and with more than a day’s worth of stubble on his cheeks. Stressed. Probably not in the mood for the teasing that Duke couldn't speak anyway, but wanted to, because that was their normal, and dear gods-he-didn't-believe-in he wanted normal right now.

He didn't look at Nathan as he strode across the room to the table, and tossed the board onto the table, jostling the glass in front of Duke and sloshing some of the liquor onto the table. Duke tilted his head up and quirked an eyebrow at Nathan.

“I don’t have time for your crap, Duke. We need to talk. Now.”

Duke waved him toward the other chair at the table.

Nathan looked around, almost nervously. “Not here. Somewhere without ears.”

Well, this was bound to be interesting. And Trouble related. Duke didn't think he had it in him to help them deal with a Trouble right now.

He wiped the board clear. _I’m busy right now._

“What sleeping in your office?” 

Wait. How’d he know that? 

Nathan was amazing at reading body language--unless it related to sex, but well... Nathan was speaking again, interrupting Duke's train of thought. “You’re cheek on that side is red from being pressed against the desk.” Nathan leaned over the table, looming. “We don’t have time for games, you need to come with me, now.”

Duke shrank back before he could stop himself. _Damn it! You’re Duke Crocker. You don’t cringe!_ Except he just had, and he saw in Nathan’s expression and the way he jerked back like he’d been burned that Nathan had seen it too. 

Duke sighed and wrote, _I can’t help you right now._ And knowing what Nathan had just seen, he couldn't even pretend he was saying it to be his usual jerkish self.

Nathan pulled the chair out, and sat in it, obviously purposefully keeping his distance. He put his hands in the pockets of his jacket. As much as it pissed Duke off that Nathan knew what had made him flinch, and accommodated it, instead of pressing his advantage, it did smooth out that impending panic attack feeling he’d had when Nathan had loomed in close. He knew that Nathan didn't miss much with his eyes, but Duke was watching the watcher now. Keeping his mouth shut made the nonverbal more important to him, so he saw the exact moment when it registered for Nathan that his backing off had worked, and then he saw the pity that followed. It was gone in a flash, but it had been there. 

Of all people, Nathan Wuornos was the last he wanted pity from. He didn't deserve it from a man he’d hurt so many times in the past, and he didn't want it from a man that he secretly, grudgingly-- _yeah, keep telling yourself that, Crocker_ \--respected in the present. He sat there trying to figure out what to say longer than he should have, and damn that wasn't helping it look normal was it? Normal was him playing hard to get, and then refusing to go away and not help them.

Normal was writing, _What do you need?_ He slid it across.

“You’re serious? This isn't sarcasm?” Nathan asked watching for his reaction.

Duke tapped the board. 

“We need to talk. Some where else.” 

Duke rolled his eyes. That was informative. He pulled the board back and wrote, _Give me five minutes._

Nathan seemed to relax just a bit. Nathan didn't generally do secretive, but Duke trusted him. 

“Bring your bag.” 

Duke shot him a ‘Why?’ look. 

“Because there is an actual bed with someone to watch your back where we’re going, unless you prefer sleeping slouched over your desk.”

He really didn't, but it was less about the havoc it would wreak on his back, and more about being alone and vulnerable. He waved the board at Nathan, and ducked into his office. He was badly overdue on both eating and his pills. He took the pill that didn't have ‘May cause drowsiness’ on the side of the bottle. He wrote a quick note to Tracy telling her to keep up the good work, and hastily signed a check with a $500.00 bonus for her. His hands were shaking. What had Nathan so rattled? Dr. Sinclair had been rattled earlier. Now Nathan. 

He dropped his bag outside the office door, and went into the small employee bathroom. He locked the door behind him. There wasn't time to fall apart. Something was happening and Nathan needed his help. He clenched the sides of the sink to stop his hands from shaking. There was fear in his eyes. Duke could see it staring back at him from the mirror. He turned his head with a frustrated sigh. He didn't need to think about eyes. He used the toilet and washed his hands. Nathan needed his help, and after everything he had done, did he have any right to refuse? He stuck his hands in his pockets as he left the bathroom to hide that the were still shaking.

Nathan's patience was obviously wearing thin, and he was looking more nervous, the longer it took Duke to be ready to leave. Duke had to get something to eat though. He'd be no use to anyone if he was too weak to stand. A kitchen run turned up a bottle of water and a roll. It should probably concern him more that he hadn't managed to eat anything since leaving the hospital, but he was already past the point where he was no longer hungry. Now he had to mentally work himself up to eating, and he was so wound up by all the changes of the day, and this stressed out and strangely secretive version of Nathan that he wasn't really sure he'd be able to even swallow the roll, much less keep it down. Forget the 4500 calories they told him he needed to actually gain weight.

Duke nodded that he was ready to go. Nathan picked up the duffle and walked out the back door like it was nothing to walk outside at night. _It_ is _nothing to walk outside at night. Suck it up_. Right. He slipped the roll and water into the large pocket of his sweater, and shifted his stance to a more tactical position. He didn't quite pie the entrance, but he did take it slow, checking the angles, as casual seeming as possible. Nathan was already halfway to his truck. 

Duke hoped it looked more like he was strolling and less like he was eyeing every shadow for Tiny and Tim. He hauled himself up into the tall Ford, and didn't look to see which Nathan had seen.


	21. Cabin

 

 

Nathan waited until Duke had buckled his seat belt before taking off. Duke snorted. Now that was like Nathan. Come to think of it, where was Audrey? He started to ask then realized that even Nathan would have a hard time hearing him over the noise of the old truck, and couldn't read the marker board in the dark. Duke figured they'd be going to meet up with Audrey, so he sat back and nibbled the roll. Small bites were easier to get down. 

Pretty soon they had turned away from the coast and headed away from Haven. Duke had finished his roll and was getting tired of waiting for Nathan to start talking. Finally he reached over and smacked Nathan on the arm. Sure Nathan couldn't feel it, but he could see the movement and it made Duke feel a bit better. Besides it felt something like their normal, and Duke wanted normal. 

When Nathan looked over, Duke gave him a _Well?_ gesture.

Nathan sighed, and said, "I didn't expect you to be released yet." He turned the truck onto a road that would lead them back to Haven by a different route.

 _Yeah, really feeling the love there, Nathan,_ he thought, and raised an eyebrow skeptically at Nathan.

"It's been an interesting few weeks here," Nathan finally said without ever looking back in Duke's direction. "I'm on 'administrative leave' pending a 'review' of my decision to arrest the Rev. He managed to stir up one hell of a hornet's nest before he disappeared."

Nathan suddenly stopped speaking. He winced and glanced over at Duke. "I didn't mean to say it like that."

Duke felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He couldn't draw breath in fast enough. The Rev and his men were not safely in police custody. Who had told him they were? Someone had told him, right? Until a second ago he had _known_ they were.

A familiar blackness crept into the edges of his vision, and his chest ached with the thumping of his heart. _No. Not here. Not in front of Nathan_. Duke heard Nathan talking, then calling his name, but the sound was muffled like a weak cell connection. 

"Stop the truck." Duke said, gagging.

The truck stopped. He was going to puke. He pawed the door handle, finally managing to pull it open and fall out to the gravel below a second before the dry heaves hit him. He'd only eaten the one roll in over twelve hours, so there really wasn't much to come up, but his body wasn't getting the memo. The blackness finished closing in.

When his vision faded back in, his back was pressed against a man’s chest, there was an arm wrapped around his chest, holding him in place, and a voice in his ear saying, “You’re okay, Duke. It’s safe. I've got you.” It sounded wrong, but this is what the Rev did.

No hands petting his hair, but this was it, wasn't it? He had imagined being rescued. _No one was coming for him_. 

He wasn't worth it. 

The Rev hadn't stopped talking, and he hadn't been listening. Moving. _No. No, no, no, no._ He’d thrown up on McKee. They were pulling him up. It was coming. Move, escape! _Be still. Be still._ It was worse if he resisted. He shook as the conflict between move and be still played out.

“Duke! You've got to help me out. We can’t stay here any longer.” That was Nathan’s voice in his ear. Nathan's voice was always the right one, so he let himself be pulled to standing, and then pushed into...a truck? That wasn't right. An arm came across him to buckle his seat belt. He could feel hands on his arms and the grate under his knees. He could feel the seat belt pressing him into the seat. It was locked and had no give. It was digging into his neck. He clenched his fists digging his fingernails into his palms. He focused on the seat belt and his hands and the sound of the truck’s engine and gradually the truck became more real than the hands on his arms and the grate digging into his knees.

It wasn't like earlier when the unexpected had snapped him back immediately, but he hadn't been as lost to it earlier. He carefully unclenched his fists. Duke stared at his hands. No blood. Good. No blood was good.

He should probably care that that had just happened in front of Nathan, but he honestly couldn't work up the mental energy. The truck stopped in front of a cabin. Duke didn't move. Neither did Nathan.

“Duke?” Nathan said in that quiet voice he rarely used when speaking to Duke.

“Yeah?” Duke winced at the sound of his voice. 

“We’re here.”

Duke nodded. He should move. Unbuckle. Open the door. He should… His door opened.

“Duke. We’re here,” Nathan said.

Duke nodded again. 

“Think you can walk in?” Nathan was close, but not touching him.

Duke started to nod again, but then shook his head. The adrenalin from earlier was wearing off fast and he was crashing hard.

“Okay. I’m going to reach across and unbuckle your seat belt.” Nathan waited for an acknowledgment before he moved. As soon as the belt wasn't pinning him to the seat, Duke slouched over onto Nathan who froze. Duke pushed himself back into the seat. Nathan stood up quickly.

“I want to hold your wrist and put your arm over my shoulder, and my other arm around your waist. We’ll get you on your feet and walked into the house. Is that okay?”

His choices were let Nathan touch him, or spend the night in the truck. Duke swallowed, but nodded. As soon as he was on his feet, he felt himself fading out.

“Duke!” Nathan shouted in his ear, staggering with the sudden unbalancing.

Duke jerked and managed to get his feet planted on the ground again. They slowly made it up the steps on the porch and into the cabin. 

“Come on, just a few more steps. That’s it. You can do it,” Nathan was keeping up a litany of encouragement, and Duke wanted to smack him, but made himself move one foot and then the other until they were in front of a sheet covered couch. Nathan sat down, dragging Duke with him. 

Nathan disentangled their arms, and stood back up. “I’m pulling your shoes off, Duke, and putting your feet on the couch.”

Duke wasn't sure if he nodded or not, but the next thing he knew he was laying on the couch with a blanket over him, and a shaft of light was in his eyes from a crack in the curtains. He shifted a little to get the light out of his eyes. He felt almost like he’d been drugged. He didn't feel any real desire to move. He just didn't care, and he felt too heavy to move if had wanted to.

He groaned. He knew this feeling. He couldn't see a clock from here, but if the sun was up then it was at least twenty hours since he had really eaten. He was still so far down on weight that he didn't have a reserve to draw on. He needed to find food before this got worse.

He sat up slowly to avoid getting too light headed. He remembered almost falling with Nathan the night before. He clearly had to do a better job of staying away from people. Maybe he'd become a hermit? 

"Okay, at the point of silliness. Definitely have to find food," he mumbled to himself.

He carefully got to his feet, and braced through the initial room-tilting dizziness. He’d learnt very well how to move when lack of food had him weak. He was standing in a sitting area with a fireplace and the door they had used the night before on his left. The kitchen was in front of him and a hall to his right, lined up with the outside door shotgun style. The hall presumably led to at least one bedroom and a bathroom. He hoped Nathan had brought food on this little field trip.

In the fridge, he found apple juice, which he began drinking from the jug, eggs, cheese, milk, and sandwich supplies, and pancake supplies on the counter. He smiled. Of course Nathan had brought pancakes. He set out the eggs, cheese, and milk, and a few slices of ham. Just having something in his stomach had him feeling better. He wrapped a piece of cheese in a slice of ham and ate them while looking for a skillet and other dishes.

A wave of dizziness hit him when he crouched to look in the lower cabinets and he fell over clanging pots and pans. He sighed and looked at the ceiling in exasperation. It was embarrassing that Nathan had heard that. He wasn't some invalid. He could take care of himself. Duke took it slowly standing up to avoid another fall. By the time he was standing, he was still alone in the kitchen. 

Okay, well, he hadn't wanted Nathan to see him on his ass like that, but he had to have heard it. Where was he? _Oh crap_. Nathan's nervousness the night before, the circuitous route getting here, _The Rev free_ , and now Nathan being too quiet? His hand went to his right hip, where the holster should be. Nothing there. He had to find his Glock. Adrenaline surged and he felt the dizziness and weakness fade to the background. 

He headed for the hallway. The first door was a coat closet. The second was a bathroom. The third door was a small bedroom, and Duke’s bag was sitting on the bed. His gun was not in the bag. In the fourth door he found Nathan’s clothes and...Audrey’s clothes. The covers were messed up into two separate piles of bedding. Now that was interesting. 

The Glock was sitting on the side table by the bed, still in it's holster. He checked to be sure a round was still chambered, and the magazine was still loaded properly. Then he slid the holster into place over his belt and pants. He drew the pistol, and carried it in the high ready position as he checked the rest of the hall. 

He passed an alcove in the hall that held an apartment sized washer and dryer and then at the end of the hall there was another door outside. The door had a window with a curtain over it. He peeked through the gap in the curtain, and saw Nathan and Audrey talking to a group of openly armed men and women. Several of them had the tattoo. Just what he needed right now. _More_ people who might want to kill him. 

Nathan’s body language was tense, and he was slightly turned, keeping his right hand in range to draw quickly. Audrey was less obviously thinking of drawing her weapon, but she was positioned a few steps away from the group, between them and the cabin, and close to a tall box planter that would provide cover and concealment for a few seconds anyway. 

The food sat heavily on his stomach. It was obvious that he was the topic of this meeting. A woman with straight black hair and long gloves kept gesturing toward the cabin door and Nathan kept shaking his head no. 

Duke thought about the main room with it’s external entrance. He should watch that for Nathan and Audrey. Nothing in here would provide bullet stopping cover, but ducking in a door in the hallway would provide some concealment and he could check both entrances. He leaned against the door frame. He had their backs. Finally, something he could do. 

He had about given out when he heard vehicles start and pull away. A key rattled in the door knob. Duke thought he could trust Nathan and Audrey, and everything he’d heard sounded like a confrontation that had ended peacefully, but he pulled the gun up to cover the entrance anyway. Nathan entered first, looking more relaxed than he had the night before at the Gull. Audrey came in behind him and shut the door. Duke relaxed, and holstered the weapon. He pulled the sweater over it. He didn't think they had even seen him in the dark doorway.

“Duke?” Audrey called.

Duke held a hand out in the hallway before stepping out fully. Just in case they got jumpy, since he couldn't speak loudly enough to answer at a distance. Audrey rushed over and Duke thought she was going to tackle hug him, but she stopped short.

“Hug?” The glint in her eye daring him to deny her.

He grinned and spread his arms. They could set aside their difficulties for a few minutes at least. She jumped into his arms so hard that he staggered into the wall. It was good to touch her. He’d spent so long seeing her, but knowing she wasn't really there. Even though he’d known she was real this time, grounding it into his mind helped settle something inside him. 

Nathan walked by them and Duke gave the other man a ‘save me’ look. Nathan smirked and headed for the kitchen. It was almost normal.

Duke pulled back and nodded his head in the direction of the living room. "Need to sit down," he said. Then rubbed his throat. Talking still hurt.

Audrey released him and said, “I’ll be there in a minute. Go on ahead.”

Duke made it to the couch with as much dignity as he could manage. Nathan had retrieved the skillet Duke had dropped and was cracking eggs into it. Duke figured he could rest for a few minutes before they made it over to talk. Maybe Nathan would make pancakes and this sliver of normal could last just a little longer. He propped his feet on the coffee table, leaned back, and closed his eyes.


	22. Guilty

 

 

_Duke took the knife from Reverend Driscoll. The man wrapped an arm over Duke's shoulders and squeezed, "Good, good." A sense of peace spread through him. He was safe when the Reverend was happy. A line was drawn on the man's chest. Duke didn't wait. He knew what he had to do. After he cut the man, he waited for the nod from the Reverend telling him it was okay to touch the blood._

Duke woke up with the blanket pulled up to his chin. His stomach was grumbling. That was good. It was easier to eat when he actually felt hungry. He pulled his feet off the coffee table wincing at the way his knees protested, and leaned forward, rubbing the back of his neck trying to work the stiffness out. He tried not to think about the dream. Thinking about them sucked him deeper and deeper into the memories and guilt. 

Okay, first order of business, find Nathan and Audrey. Then, barring further threatening meetings, get food. Then answers. He heard the toilet flush. Well, there was one of them. 

Nathan stepped into the room. “You’re awake. Going to stay awake long enough to talk this time?”

Duke nodded. He looked around for the marker board. 

“Yeah, you’ll need this,” Nathan said picking up the board and marker from the top of the fridge. He grabbed a chair and brought it with him as well. He handed Duke the board and marker and then sat in the chair facing backward. 

Duke noted that Nathan was leaving a barrier between the two of them. Damn it! Was he really that fragile? His stomach growled loudly, interrupting his fit of pique.

“You really need to eat," Nathan said. He shook his head. "No, you shouldn't even be here. When I find out which one of them threatened that doctor into sending you home...I'll deal with them."

Nathan headed toward the kitchen.

Duke wrote, _Someone threatened Dr. Sinclair?_ Then tapped the table so Nathan would look at it.

"Near as I can figure it was one of the Guard. They aren't the most patient people. Will you eat scrambled eggs?"

Duke nodded, accepting the subject change. He could wait until after food to get answers. He moved to the kitchen table. Nathan paused in cooking the eggs to set a glass of milk on the table. Duke felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. He didn't expect this. It was...nice. _Thanks._ He wrote. He sipped the milk, and watched his thumb run around the rim of the glass. 

They were quiet until Nathan slid a plate with eggs and toast over to him. He expected Nathan to take the other chair and start talking, but instead he walked away into the hall. Duke breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't really liked anyone watching him eat since it happened. He was almost ready for another nap by the time he finished, but he wanted answers, and he had to be awake to get them.

While Duke was rinsing the dishes, Nathan came back and sat in the chair he had taken to the sitting area earlier. Duke finished up and went back to the couch.

_Audrey?_ Duke wrote as soon as he picked up the board.

“She's still on duty. She went back to town, but she'll be back this evening,” Nathan said.

Duke frowned. Audrey and Nathan didn't normally split up when something was going on. Was babysitting him important enough to keep Nathan here, or was that 'review,' as Nathan said it, enough to keep Nathan completely out of town? Either way, Duke didn't want to be at the center of keeping Nathan away from Haven. The Troubled needed him in town. They needed him working on their side. 

"We've got to get you caught up... and I'm going to have to ask you some questions." Nathan looked at him and Duke saw that flash of pity in Nathan's eyes again. "I know this isn't the best way to do this, but there just isn't time." 

Duke closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and met Nathan's gaze. He nodded. They needed him. He could do this.

“After the raid on the brewery--” Duke held a hand up to interrupt Nathan.

_What brewery?_

“You didn't know?”

Duke rolled his eyes and tapped the board. Yeah he was asking because he already knew.

“You were being held in the old Gottlieb brewery outside town. We worked with the electric company to trace unusual power usage. Rescued twenty-two Troubled people who had been kidnapped between ten and fifteen days before. And we found you.”

_The Rouge was set adrift and you thought I was dead._

Nathan looked a little shaken, “Yeah. Yeah, Beattie told me you knew.” He continued, “After the raid, we had to release the Rev. We managed to hang onto several of his followers, but we think some escaped before the raid."

Nathan waited. Duke decided Nathan wasn't going to on until he responded.

Some of them behind bars was better than none. Maybe it would be Tiny, Tim, and McKee. With his luck it wasn't, but he could wish. _Do you have pictures? I don't know very many names._

Nathan shook his head. "I'll text Audrey to bring the file." 

_How are your tattooed friends involved?_

“They call themselves The Guard. They protect the Troubled. Normally they don’t care for cops, but with so many Troubled disappearing at once, they decided it would be easier to work together.”

_Looked like you have a real solid relationship there._

“I don’t always agree with their methods,” Nathan said carefully. "The Rev riled up the prosecutor and the selectmen, agitated his whole congregation, and then disappeared. We've been looking for him for over a week. He wants you back. Had to keep Guards on you. We had decided maybe he wasn't going to try while you were in such a public place, so we were waiting for you to get out. Somebody sped things up.”

Duke had felt safe at the hospital. He'd known at some level that it was illusion, but they'd been watching him all this time, waiting for the Rev to take him again. The tense meeting from earlier meant, _You interrupted something they had planned for me last night. Didn't you?_

“The doctor had you out of there faster than they thought he would, and arranged a ride for you," Nathan said. "They were going to pick you up, put you where they wanted you. They thought when you were dropped off that you'd hole up on the _Rouge_. No one knew where you had gone for a while until Beattie called me worried about you. You didn't know about or agree to the plan. My feelings toward you haven’t changed, Duke. I still couldn't let them use you like that. ”

Duke snorted. The only reason he was here with someone watching his back, was that Nathan was too much of a Boy Scout for his own good. He mentally smacked himself. Half their relationship lately had been him imagining part of his self-talk to be in Nathan's voice. Nathan hadn't been there. He didn't know how many times the sound of his voice had saved Duke's sanity, even after Duke had forgotten it was just his imagination. 

It wasn't real. Nathan would have saved anyone, and Duke had the feeling that anyone else Nathan wouldn't be about to ask to go back and play bait. He could see it on Nathan's face. They _needed_ Duke to draw the Rev out. If playing bait accomplished that then Duke could do that.

He wasn't sure what The Guard had told Nathan about their plan for dealing with the Rev was, but it obviously wasn't legal, or Nathan would have handled it with the police force. If it was already illegal, why would they stop until it was final? Final was good with Duke in this case. 

“The Rev has gone round the bend. He’s out of control, and there is nothing I can do about it as a cop.” Nathan sounded frustrated. Duke knew Nathan staked a lot on being a cop and following the laws and rules--at least until it came to giving out ridiculous parking tickets. He must have been desperate to work with The Guard.

_I’m bait._ Duke tipped the board toward Nathan, who nodded. He wrote _When do we leave?_ and slid the board across the table. He could feel the physical symptoms of panic creeping up on him. He pulled his knees up to his chest and put his head down. Concentrated on the feel of the couch, and the fact that Nathan hadn't left him to be taken by surprise. 

Duke got his breathing under control, and felt the rest fade back toward normal. He wanted Nathan to understand. He could do this. He could save the town from the Rev. He just wished that the purpose of bait wasn't to get eaten. It would be easy for the Guard to solve two problems for the town with one trap. 

Nathan had waited, giving him time to get himself together. "We need more information, Duke."

Duke uncurled and grabbed the board again. _'We' means the Guard. They think I’m a threat_

“They've thought you were a threat since the day you were born. You’re still here. Some of them don’t like that.” Nathan paused. "Especially now."

_Maybe they're right._ Would he ever know for sure? Would he ever stop wanting that feeling of freedom the blood gave him?

Nathan sat back and scrubbed his face with his palms. "All the Troubled that were taken congruent with what we thought was our timeline, were found alive. Finding you blew that timeline out of the water. There were three, besides you, that we didn't originally think were part of the case, because they didn't match the time frame. They're...missing. Finding them would go a long way toward calming The Guard."

The board dropped to the table. Nathan looked like he was about to start speaking, but he just sat there. Looking. Duke looked away. He had no way of knowing. He didn't remember killing, but three people were still missing. Of course The Guard thought it was him. He waited for a reaction to hit him, but nothing came. Nothing at all.

"They're _missing_ , Duke. We don't even know for sure if they have anything to do with this case."

Duke shifted his gaze to his hands. How much blood had been on them? Nathan was looking for a guilty reaction. He had the same suspicions Duke did. 

Nathan picked up the marker board and held it out. "I need to know where and when were you abducted."

Duke took it. He still felt numb. _Taken from the_ Rouge _day I planned to leave._

Nathan nodded. "Adriana Gulf disappeared two weeks before you, then. Karen Weiss was last seen a week before the others were taken. She disappeared about the time we found the _Rouge_ \--

_Karen glanced nervously at McKee and leaned in closer to Duke. "Just do it, quickly._ Please! _Don't make me watch them hurt you again."_

"You with me, Duke?" 

He was rubbing his wrists again. He did every time he thought about Karen. He stopped and nodded.

"You know them?"

Duke felt strange like the marker picked itself up and wrote. _Karen saved my life. Think her Trouble cures infections. She knew the Rev._

Duke needed to pull back. Had to if he was going to be any help. He pushed the memories of Karen away where he couldn't see them; couldn't let himself ask questions. _What do you need to know?_

"The blood, Duke. It's all about the blood for The Guard."

He'd had a vague plan to write the Nathan section of the How Duke Has Screwed Up list, My Name Is Earl style, and give it to Nathan and then try to figure out how to make it right between them. He felt his hands shaking as his thoughts warred between the only non-painful memories from the last two months and disgust with himself for having _liked_ it. He was every bit the monster The Guard thought he was, and he was tired of fighting himself.

“I’m sorry, Nathan. For the tacks, and every other horrible thing I did to you.” His voice cracked on ‘every’ and gave out with 'you,' and that was going to be it on talking for a while. He wrote the rest.

_They're right. It_ is _about the blood. I’d like a shower before you take me back._

Duke put the board down on the table, and headed for the bathroom without waiting to see Nathan's reaction. He listened until the door was closed, but didn't hear anything. He nodded. Nothing he didn't deserve, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken so long to post. I was adding back in the italics and such, and realized that the conversation just didn't do what it needed to. So I decided to re-write it, and kept running into dead-end after dead-end, which each required back tracking to figure out why it was a dead-end. I think it finally functions now, or at least I hope it does. Anyway, sorry for the wait.


	23. Duke needs a hug

Duke leaned against the door for a while before finally moving. He undressed slowly, trying not to look too closely in the mirror. Yeah, okay, he couldn't help but look. It was like a wreck on the highway. Everyone knows they should just go on about their business, but they all end up staring anyway. It didn't feel like he was directly touching bone when he poked his ribs now that he had gained almost ten pounds back. It gave him a thin layer of padding that helped soften the hollows between ribs, but they were still there. His arms were thin, the joints prominent, and bruises of different ages scattered up them from IVs. His hair was thinner normal, and not all the same length. It had fallen out in patches and was growing back. He was pale and had dark circles around his eyes. He looked terrible, and he knew it. 

He hated seeing himself, but it helped ground him. Remind him that if he was a monster, it hadn't been by his choice, or even by his family curse. He'd had it under control. They had had to almost kill him to take away his control. Doubt crept in. Maybe if he was stronger, he could have... 

_Stop it. It's not like the movies._

Duke shook himself away from the mirror. He finally got the water going, and leaned against the shower wall. The hot water pouring over him felt good. He didn't want to die...and he didn't deserve to die, either. The Rev could go on all day and night about how he was choosing to do what they said, but McKee had always been there ready to _make_ him follow orders. Until it came to killing, they were perfectly willing to do the cutting themselves, or hold his hands in theirs and force him. They usually cut deeper than he did, and then later McKee would _touch_ him. There was no choice there. 

It would sink in someday. Maybe someday he'd even really believe it didn't all go back to the pain-free invincible rush he got from touching the blood. There had been times when he had wanted that rush more than water while he was thirsty. _That_ is what scared him. That was the curse. Pavlov. His body was primed to kill. Once all the choices about whether or not to be exposed to the blood were made, he had no more choice. His body reacted without his consent, and reacted the next time and the next time, and so on and so forth. He couldn't stop that. But, now he had the ability to choose. What he did with it would determine whether he was the monster they wanted him to be, or the man he had been.

There were plenty of things on the How Duke Has Screwed Up list that belonged to him. Fully. His to own. This shit? Not his to own. So why would he agree to be bait? _Besides guilt?_ He grinned. He was so Faramir in this situation. Okay, so that meant Nathan was Denethor, and that was more than a little weird.

Yeah, only if he was thinking things he really shouldn't be thinking. There was nothing there. He thought of what Nathan had said, ‘My feelings towards you haven’t changed, and I _still_ couldn't let them do that to you.’ Duke had burnt that bridge a long time ago, and no amount of self-sacrifice was going to rebuild it. Especially with this blood thing hanging over his head.

Neither was an apology. Stupid, pointless thing to have said. Nathan was going to spend months trying to figure out how having said it was supposed to manipulate him, and Duke knew he’d eventually screw up and give Nathan something to point to. He could imagine the look. He’d seen it before. He’d done things on purpose before that put that look on Nathan’s face. He was an idiot, but he was an idiot who was going to have his ‘If I return, think better of me.’ moment. Somehow he doubted his would end better than the flaming Denethor Faramir got.

The water was starting to go cold. He hurried and washed up--good thing someone had toiletries in here. Judging by the scents, Audrey had left them. At least he didn't think Nathan was the 'sweet pea and violet' type. He shut off the water, and dripped across the floor finding a towel. Since he hadn't thought to grab his clothes when he retreated, he wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door.

Nathan was standing right in front of the door, one hand raised as if he was knocking. His eyes ran over Duke’s body. Duke wished it was any other time that he’d actually gotten Nathan to look at him, but no. It was now. Nathan stood there until it was just awkward. 

Finally he took a step back, “You… You look better than the last time I saw you.”

Duke’s eyebrows shot up. Not where he’d expected this to go. He looked bloody awful, but then he realized when Nathan had last seen him without a shirt.

“I wasn't going to force you to do this. You can walk away. We’ll find the Rev without you.”

Duke looked for disappointment in Nathan’s expression. He wasn't expecting to see guilt, and maybe a little fear. Of course, this was Nathan, if there was guilt anywhere within a three mile radius, he’d take it. Duke really needed the marker board. He took a step into the hall, and the cold floor reminded him that he needed clothes. Gah! This not talking thing was getting so old! He held his hand up in a wait motion, and went for his clothes.

A couple of minutes later he was back in the living room, where he found Nathan sitting, staring at the fireplace. He had built a fire while Duke was in the shower, so it didn't look like they were leaving any time soon. 

He grabbed the marker board. _I’ll do it, because I want them gone. I trust you._

“Do you hear yourself, Duke? Since when have you trusted me like this? This is some kind of imprinting thing, isn't it? Because I was the one dumb enough to get near you when you still had your hand on a knife, and had to ride with you to the hospital to get stitches. This is all just some kind of reaction to the... the trauma, and I can’t take advantage of you when you aren't in a normal state of mind.”

Duke sat down beside Nathan and joined him in staring at the fire. Maybe Nathan was a little bit right. He'd imagined a lot of their recent interaction. He knew they were just wishful thinking or a defense mechanism or something.

He didn't have any illusions that he’d never have another panic attack or flashback. He could work to avoid them, and hope they faded eventually. He wasn't having one right now. He was in his right mind, making his own decisions. It wasn't like he hadn't trusted Nathan before, at least when it came down to life or death. Nathan just needed a reminder of that to go through with it, because Duke needed to know the Rev wasn't hiding in every shadow he passed for the rest of his life.

_I came to you when Stoney was trying to kill me._

Nathan didn't respond. _I called you and Audrey before Jean was born._

“You called Audrey...repeatedly.”

 _I knew you’d come too._ Nathan kept staring at the fire. Duke sometimes wished the guy came with a universal translator. 'Just point the translator at your Nathan Wuornos unit and all it's nonverbal broodiness will be translated into actual speech!' Duke shook his head to clear that image before he started laughing. Now was definitely not the time.

Maybe another direction was needed. _I don’t remember cutting you._

Nathan pushed his sleeve up revealing a very fresh scar along his forearm. 

_I’m sorry._

“Since when do you apologize, Duke?” Nathan still wouldn't look at him.

Shit what was he doing? Two apologies in one day to _Nathan_? Fucked up as it was, that was definitely not the right way to calm things down. _Had a lot of time to think when_ He stopped. 

Nathan had seen him out of his mind at least twice over this, and he was still here. He almost felt compelled to share some of it. Nathan wouldn't spread it around, and Duke didn't think it could make Nathan think less of him. Nathan already didn't like him, right?

He erased and started over. _Woke up 1st day. Filled the cell with water up to my chin. Chained to the wall._ Damn, he wished he had a bigger board. He didn't like having to stop for Nathan to read it.

Nathan nodded when he had finished reading it. _Stood there. Felt like days. Lot of time to think._

_I can do this. Not like you're tying me to train track. Not forcing me._

"I'm still a cop, Duke. It goes against everything I believe in to put a victim back in the hands of their perpetrator," Nathan said slowly.

 _You'd rather me be looking over my shoulder the rest of my life? I don't want him loose!_ Duke slammed the marker against the board with the dot on the exclamation and glared at Nathan.

"It's not your job to--"

Duke jumped to his feet and paced. He wanted to throw things, punch Nathan, whatever. The frantic energy burned off almost as fast as it had started, and he sat back down. This time at the very corner of the couch, furthest from Nathan. He was still pissed, just didn't have the stamina for it anymore. He pulled his feet up on the couch, wrapped his arms around his legs, and glared at Nathan over his knees. He felt like a sulky three year old doing it.

Nathan just sat there, not making eye contact. No. Nathan was sitting there being non-threatening, because he saw him as a _victim_ , and that pissed Duke off even more.

Duke really missed having a clock on the wall. He was going to have to get a watch. He didn't know how long they had sat there. Him glaring, Nathan not looking at him, but he finally couldn't keep it up any longer. He was tired, and he was still bothered by the urge to share. It sort of baffled him. He was pissed because Nathan thought he was a victim, how was sharing details going to help with that? Yet, his hand still itched to pick up the marker and start writing.

Nathan picked up the board and held it out. He didn't say anything, or even look at Duke beyond a glance to be sure the board was within his reach. How the hell did Nathan read him like that? Duke sighed, but took the board. He hoped this wouldn't be one of those things where he ended up hating himself more afterward. He took the board, but the marker remained hovering above it. He had no idea what to write now.

"What happened with the water, Duke?"Nathan asked quietly.

_I begged. At the end. Said I never would. Didn't do any good. Water stayed._

_Couldn't stay awake any longer. Thought I was going to die. Didn't want me dead. Just weak._ Nathan was watching the Board now. Paying attention, but not trying to make eye contact.

_Rev came in. Held me against his chest. Fed me. Creepy bastard, always said "Good, good."_

“I--Last night-- holding you up, Is that what…?”

Duke nodded.

Nathan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking like he was about to apologize, but thankfully, he didn't. Nathan finally looked at him. Duke couldn't read his expression. "What about the blood, Duke?"

Duke felt the familiar ball of dread settle into his stomach. He wanted someone to know, even if Nathan was really only listening to assess the danger level to the town's Troubled population. Duke could damn himself for this later. Right now he couldn't take being alone with it any longer. _Started small. Blood on a plate. Forced me to touch it._

 _Next time, stayed in the room. Thought I could fight. Wouldn't even let me pass out. Smelling salts._ He swallowed hard trying not to let himself gag. 

"What were they doing, Duke?" Duke was pretty sure he never wanted to hear that tone of voice from Nathan again.

 _Touching._ Don't think. Just answer. Don't think. His heart was racing, his mouth felt like he’d swallowed sand, and he was still fighting the urge to gag.

_Got sick. Karen fixed. Wouldn't cut her. Begged me to not make her watch again. I Cut her. Thanked me._

_Cut a lot of people after that. Walked in with the Rev. Took the knife. Best part of my day._

Duke was hyperventilating. He knew it, but he couldn't stop. Then he felt Nathan's hand on his knee. He looked up and met Nathan's eyes. "What did they do to you, Duke? When they were touching, what did they do to you?"

Duke looked away, whispered, "McKee. Troubled. _Put him on his knees_. Pain, everywhere. Hurts." He curled up, wrapping his arms around his head. "Hurts." His heart was pounding in his chest, and it occurred to him that he had only taken a single pill from the bottles Dr. Sinclair had sent with him. Probably not the best idea. He focused as hard as he could on the sound of the fire,the feel of the couch and of his fingernails digging into his palms, trying to keep the memories from taking over.

Duke froze as Nathan took one of his hands and gently interlaced their fingers. It gave him something to ground him to the now, better than anything else he had tried. He threw his other arm around Nathan's neck and pulled him in tight. Nathan made a noise of surprise, but didn't pull away, and after a moment of awkward hand waving patted Duke on he back. It was a somewhat sideways hug and his knees were still pulled up in the way, but it was the best human contact Duke had had in longer than he cared to remember. He wasn't letting go until Nathan made him.

“I told them no. This morning, I mean. That it wasn't happening. You’re a lowlife criminal, Duke. You use people, and hurt people. And I used to think that was all there was to you. I don't trust this Crocker family _legacy_ , but you were controlling it. Over the last year I've seen you help over and over when it didn't benefit you at all. Most of the time I still don’t like you, but I don’t want you dead--or hurt.”

"That... Was... Almost sweet," Duke whispered. Nathan didn't make him move, and Duke would never be willing to admit it if tears soaked Nathan's shirt where he pressed his face tight to Nathan's shoulder.

 

"Duke." A hand was on his shoulder, shaking him. "Duke, you fell asleep. Come on, use the bed this time.”

Duke sat up, looking around groggily. His arm was still wrapped around Nathan's neck. He nodded and let go. Nathan stood and tugged on Duke’s hand. Duke followed, still more asleep than awake. He let Nathan lead him to the bedroom, and he lay down when Nathan patted the bed. Nathan pulled the covers up over him, and tugged his hand free.

“Stay. Please?” Duke whispered, reaching out to him.

Nathan stopped for a moment as he considered, then nodded. He crawled into the bed, on top of the covers and took Duke’s hand in his again. 

“This doesn't get out, Crocker,” Nathan said seriously.

Duke made a zip and throw away the key motion with his free hand.


	24. Do We Have An Understanding?

Duke woke up to a hand over his mouth and Nathan whispering, “Shh!. Someone’s coming in--not Audrey.”

Duke nodded and quietly rolled off the bed. He checked that he was still wearing his pistol. Stupid to have fallen asleep wearing it, but now he was glad he had put it back on when he got dressed. He pulled the slide back just far enough to verify that there was still a round in the chamber. There was already movement from the hall, so not enough time to take the doorway position like he had earlier. He knelt at the corner of the bed, bracing his wrists on the bed. Nathan was at the corner of the opposite side of the bed, unarmed. 

Tiny burst into the room, clearly not having expected them to be prepared. He was carrying a pistol, but it was pointed at the floor. Tiny started to raise his pistol and Duke fired at center mass. Tiny dropped his weapon and fell to the floor moaning. Tim had been behind Tiny, but didn't have a weapon in his hands. He leapt at Nathan, so Duke didn't have a clear shot. 

Nathan threw a punch at Tim's chest, but it didn't even slow the big man down. He grabbed Nathan’s shirt and slung him around the end of the bed slamming him into Duke. It pushed Duke back, forcing his arms up off the bed. Nathan's momentum rolled him into the wall behind Duke. Tim barreled into Duke, bending him backward over the bed. He caught Duke's arm and dug a thumb into the pressure point between fingers and thumb until Duke lost his grip on the gun. 

Nathan tackled Tim from the side, taking the big man to the floor. Duke rolled over to find the gun. Pain exploded in his eye. Colors and sparks filled his vision. He shook his head trying to clear them. This time he saw the heavy roll of duct tape swinging toward him just before it connected with his cheek bone. The blow jerked his head to the side, throwing off his balance. The bed shifted at the same time, from Nathan and Tiny slamming into it, and Duke fell to the floor. 

He landed on his knees and one hand. McKee had swung the duct tape again and missed. His balance was off. Duke surged to his feet and rammed his shoulder into McKee's stomach, slamming him into the side table. He felt McKee’s fingers scrabbling at his clothes trying to get to his skin. Duke pulled himself free of McKee, and got to his feet. 

He hesitated, just for a moment unsure of how to deal with McKee. McKee took advantage of the moment, surged forward, and clamped a hand around Duke’s bare ankle. He flailed as he went down, and saw blood spurting from McKee’s nose. The man didn't let go.

 

* * *

 

Duke jerked back from the harsh scent of smelling salts. His hands were taped around the wrists behind his back. His whole body ached in a terrifyingly familiar way. Tim's giant hands were clamped around his upper arms holding him on his knees. Tim released him and moved to stand in front. 

Nathan! He opened his eyes and tried quickly scanned the room. Everything looked fuzzy. He blinked several times and his vision cleared somewhat. He found Nathan across the room, his head and body wavering as he tried to keep his balance on his knees. They had taped his arms together from wrist to elbow and then taped them to his chest. They had also wrapped what looked like half a roll of duct tape around his head, covering his eyes. Duke grimaced. It was going to be almost impossible to get that off without damaging his eyelids.

“Nathan?” His voice was little more than a squeak--he must have been screaming from McKee's touch--but Nathan’s head immediately turned toward him. 

“Duke?” 

“Yes.” He saw Tim’s arm begin the move, and braced himself as well as he could. It felt like getting hit by a truck. The only reason he didn't fall over was that his head bounced off the wall on the other side of him. He tasted blood from his teeth cutting his cheek.

“No talking,” Tim said harshly. Duke didn't think he’d ever heard Tim make a sound before. 

Duke looked for Tiny. He was in the corner by the door, where he had fallen when Duke shot him. Reverend Driscoll was kneeling next to him, apparently praying. Tiny wasn't breathing. Duke wasn't sure how he'd feel about that later. Right now he was purely relieved.

Reverend Driscoll stood and walked slowly to Tim. “I’m sorry, John. Aaron will be remembered as a martyr in the war against these curses.” Tim--Duke didn't care that he finally knew the man’s name, he’d been Tim this long, it was sticking--ducked his head.

The Rev grabbed Duke by the chin and turned his head side to side. “We’re going to go visit some folks with unfortunate curses. You are going to take this knife.” He held up The Knife. _Don’t drop the knife!_ flashed through his mind, sending his pulse skyrocketing and clenching his chest until he felt like he couldn't breath. The Rev watched his reaction, then chuckled. “Yes, this knife. You are are going to take it and you are going to end their lives.”

Duke spit blood onto the Rev’s shirt. He’d been aiming for the man’s face. “No.” 

The Rev stepped back looking disgusted. Tim's fist smashed into Duke's face, knocking him onto his back. "John, stop," The Rev said, putting a hand on Tim's arm. Tim stopped with one foot pulled back for a kick. The Rev went on, "We have more effective methods of punishment, and don't doubt that he will pay for what he did to Aaron."

Tim pulled Duke back onto his knees. His nose was bleeding heavily. Tim left one hand clamped around Duke's arm, as if to remind him. 'I'm in charge.' Duke tried to lean over enough to bleed on Tim's shoes. Hey, it was all he had at the moment.

“I’m sure you've figured out by now that Mr. McKee’s touch doesn't have the same effect on Nathan as it does on most.” The Rev pointed toward Nathan. McKee was trailing a bare finger up Nathan’s face. Nathan hadn't noticed. “I think he might notice this though.” 

The Rev nodded to McKee. McKee braced Nathan’s head with his left hand, and slapped his palm across Nathan’s ear as hard as he could. Nathan listed to that side, losing his balance. McKee caught him, and held him upright. Nathan grimaced and shook his head. Then turned his head side to side, like he was trying to find a new balance point. 

Duke stared at the Rev in shock. The Rev moved in close and whispered in his ear, “I don’t intend to kill him, son, but if I was you I’d choose my next action very carefully. We haven’t done anything permanent to his eyes...yet. Do we have an understanding?” The Rev stood up straight, and looked at Duke expectantly.

Duke nodded. 

The Rev looked at Tim and said, “Bring him. We’ll get Wuornos.”

“What about Aaron?” Tim asked. 

“We’ll get them secured in the truck and come back for him,” the Rev said, patting the big man on the arm. 

Tim grabbed Duke’s arm and yanked him to standing. “You'll walk or I'll drag you.”

McKee slid his hand between bands of tape holding Nathan’s arms to his chest on the right, and the Rev did the same on the left. They hauled him up to his feet, though with McKee so much much shorter it left Nathan’s shoulders set at an uneven angle. They stepped forward, dragging Nathan with them. He tried to keep his feet under him, but after a few steps he seemed to realize it was useless and let them drag him. At least he still had his shoes on, so his toes weren't getting such a beating.

Duke was out of options. He couldn't kill the Troubles for these people, and he couldn't live with being responsible for Nathan losing all contact with the world. If he was dead, they’d probably kill Nathan. Did he have the right to choose death for them both? He was sure he didn't have the right to choose that kind of living death for Nathan. When they handed him the knife for the kill, he would end it. He just hoped he didn't miss.


	25. I Own You, son

Tim tugged sharply on Duke's arm to get him moving. Duke walked as slowly as he dared. The Rev and McKee were already out of the house and stepping off the porch with Nathan when he and Tim made it to the door. They stepped off the porch.

McKee stumbled and fell to the side. His hand was tangled in the tape, so he dragged Nathan and the Rev with him. The sound of the shot caught up. Duke dropped to the ground. A second later Tim fell on top of him, knocking the wind out of him, and thumping his head against the ground. He gasped for air, only dimly aware that the Rev had pulled Nathan free of McKee’s body and was placing him as a shield against the sniper. 

Blood was oozing out of Tim and covering his back. By the time he had struggled free of the ridiculously heavy body of Tim, the Rev had Duke's-- _Damn it!_ \--gun pointed at Nathan’s head. He was ducked behind Nathan, and the fact that Nathan was wavering around trying to keep his balance had to be working in the Rev’s favor against the sniper.

The Rev seemed to be completely unaware that Duke was moving behind him. Duke moved as silently as possible. He didn't really want to get shot here. He had almost made it when something prompted the Rev to turn and check his back. 

He turned the gun on Duke. A smile slowly spread across his face. “Think you've won? I was going to save this town using you. I own you, son. And no one else is going to get to claim you.”

Duke didn't beg this time. His death would end so many nightmares, and there was nothing he could do to stop it now. A shot rang out. Duke cringed, waiting for the pain. The Rev fell to his side, a small hole in his forehead. Nathan was dragged down with him. 

Relief flooded through Duke, and his knees turned to jelly. He fell to the ground laughing though little sound came out, and yeah he knew it was more than a little hysterical, but he was alive. Nathan was… The thought sobered him nearly instantly. Nathan needed to know what was going on. He started the awkward process of getting up with his hands tied behind back, when he felt someone pushing him back down. 

Panic surged for a second. Then he heard Audrey say, “Hold still, Duke. I’m cutting this tape.”

He nodded and made himself wait until the pressure holding his arms behind him disappeared. Nathan hadn't moved. He was still tangled over the top of the Rev. Duke darted to Nathan’s side. Blood from McKee was pooling nearby. He made sure to avoid it.

His throat had swollen again, making his breathing noisy, and getting even a whisper of sound out an iffy prospect, but he tried anyway. “Nathan. It’s Duke.”

“I know. I can hear you breathing. Audrey?” His voice sounded strained, but strong. Duke glanced over Nathan’s body, but there was so much blood from McKee and the Rev, they wouldn't know what was Nathan’s until his clothes were gone.

“I’m here, Nathan. Dwight is coming in right now. I’m working on getting your arms free,” Audrey said already working on cutting the tape holding Nathan's arms to his chest.

“My eyes?” Nathan said in a small voice, that Duke never, ever, wanted him to have cause to use again.

“There’s… There’s a lot of tape around your head, Nathan. I can’t see them,” Audrey said.

“He said hadn't hurt you before.” Duke tried to say something else and not even a whisper would come out.

“Before my ear?” 

Duke nodded. Audrey relayed for him, “He says yes. The tape on your arms is over your shirt. I’m just cutting the whole shirt off.” She already had one sleeve sliced as she said it. She handed Duke the knife, and he began working on his side.

“Get it off my eyes.” Nathan hesitated. “Please?”

Audrey’s face scrunched up like she was about to cry, but Duke couldn't hear it in her voice. “I can’t out here. You won’t feel it, but it’ll tear your eyelids up. We've got to take it slowly.” She took Nathan’s hand with one of hers and rubbed up and down his arm with the other hand. 

Duke saw the change that came over Nathan’s expression the second Audrey took his hand. Nathan could feel her. That explained a few things. Maybe more than he wanted explained. 

“I see Dwight walking up the driveway. He’ll be here in a few seconds. Be right back.” 

Audrey moved to intercept Dwight. Duke finished cutting Nathan’s shirt free, and straightened the arm that he’d just freed. He rubbed it to help restore circulation, like Audrey had. There was no reaction from Nathan. 

At least he could see there were no bleeding injuries to Nathan's chest and abdomen. There was a lot of bruising. Duke wasn't sure how they were going to explain it all, especially the one on his side shaped like a boot print, to the hospital, but Nathan would definitely need at least x-rays. Duke glared over at Tim. Bastard.

“Nathan?" Audrey said as she returned. "Dwight is going to get you inside, so we can get that tape off your head. Come on Duke,” she said hauling on his arm. Duke heard Dwight explaining his every move and touch before he did it, as he allowed Audrey to lead him inside.

Once inside, she shoved him toward the bathroom. “Don’t use all the hot water.”

He bundled his clothes into the trashcan as he took them off. They were all bloody. Down his front from his own nose and mouth, and down his back from Tim. No blood reaction, so none of it could have belonged to McKee--or Nathan. He hurried to start the water. He wanted to help, and to see for himself that the Rev hadn't been lying when he said they hadn't touched Nathan’s eyes. 

Duke scrubbed the blood from his skin. Let the water pull Tim’s and Mckee’s and the Rev’s presence down with it. They were never going to touch him again. He was finally safe. Relief hit him hard, left him on his knees gagging up bile. His chest and ribs hurt. His head ached, and he was vaguely dizzy. As soon as he got his stomach under control, he got up and finished cleaning up. He really wanted to check on Nathan.

He quickly dried off, and wrapped the towel around his waist. The mirror showed bruises already darkening on his face, arms, and chest. His left eye was working towards swelling shut. He nodded to himself. This would fade. They weren't going to hurt him again.

He found his bag outside the bathroom, and quickly pulled on his last set of clean clothes. He could smell an oily chemical smell, and hear a spray can. He wrinkled his nose as he entered the kitchen where it was much stronger. He felt bad for Nathan with his super sensitive nose having to smell that much spray solvent, even with the door and windows open. 

They had pulled away several wraps of tape that had been stuck to itself and Dwight was now using the solvent to dissolve the glue from Nathan’s hair. Nathan looked miserable, but they’d gotten most of the back of his head free. Audrey had a bottle of olive oil in one hand and was gently working it under the tape around Nathan’s eyes. 

“We’re heading out as soon as we get Nathan cleaned up,” Audrey said. “Don’t try to open your eye, Nathan!” she scolded as the tape came free from Nathan’s right eye. She took a washcloth and gently wiped away the oil. “Okay.”

Nathan blinked his eye open, squinting against the light. His eye was there and looking at Duke, which did funny things to Duke's knees. Then he was looking at Audrey with an adoration that Duke had never seen directed at him. Duke slipped out of the kitchen, and went to pack up Audrey and Nathan’s things. He left them each a set of clothes on their bed. Who said he couldn't be useful?

The last of the adrenalin rush was gone and Duke was tired. His limbs felt like lead weights. He sat down in the chair that was in the corner of Nathan and Audrey's room. It was dark outside now. He had managed to not eat much again today. He knew he’d feel better if he ate, but the oily chemical smell pervading the house turned his stomach against the idea of food.

Maybe just a little rest, and he’d be good to go again.


	26. Not Alone

Duke woke up to see Audrey kneeling in front of him, looking worried. “Wh--” He couldn’t get any more sound out.

“Here, drink this,” she said, handing him a glass of milk. 

He was confused. Why did she wake him up to hand him a glass of milk?

“We think you had a blood sugar crash. We got some juice in you a few minutes ago, and you’re awake enough to give me funny looks now, so there must be something to it. Drink.” She motioned for him to drink, so he did.

He looked around for Nathan and Dwight after he finished the milk. The board and marker would be nice about now.

“Nathan's in the shower,” Audrey said. “Dwight is arranging for this whole mess to be _cleaned_. As soon as Nathan is ready, and someone else arrives to keep an eye on things here, we’re heading for the hospital. I’m driving Nathan to Haven General, Dwight is going to take you back to Camden.”

Duke shook his head. He didn't want to go back to Camden. How would he get back home again? Besides, they had threatened Dr. Sinclair. The guy didn't need Duke around bringing that back up for him.

“Dwight has to go to Camden anyway, to settle the dust The Guard raised with that doctor. We don’t want you and Nathan at the same place. Too many rumors, given your history.” Audrey had backed off and was sitting on the bed now.

Duke tried to give her a ‘I’m fine.’ hand wave.

“Don’t give me that nonsense. Have you looked at yourself?” She said like she was trying to lighten the mood. But, yes. Yes, he had looked at himself. He didn't find it very funny.

Nathan walked in then, hair still damp from the shower, and carrying Duke’s board. Dwight followed him in. Nathan handed Duke the board, and looked at all three of them. “We've got to get this straight before the circus arrives.”

Dwight cleared his throat. “Lucassi is coming out first. Kirk is bringing The Guard. Jordan will be with them, and we should be gone before she gets here,” he said, looking meaningfully at Nathan.

Duke would have to ask about that later, especially since Nathan looked shaken for a second before getting his standard mask back in place.

“Audrey will take Nathan, and I’ll drive Duke to Camden. Duke already started a story that has gone around town. Rumor is that he was hit by a Trouble and was in the Camden hospital. No one is mentioning him in connection with the kidnappings. Everyone thinking he was dead and now targeted by a Trouble at the time is working in our favor.” 

Dwight stopped and sighed. “Here’s the hard part,” he said looking at Nathan and Audrey. “You two know something of what happened and you’re clearly feeling protective. If you want to keep people from thinking too closely about where he was, you can’t act on that. You,” he said pointing at Nathan, “were beyond pissed when you thought he left town. If he had come back under any other circumstances, you’d still be pissed. Everyone knows that, so that’s what you have to be. And you, “he said pointing to Audrey, “same thing. If you wouldn't have done it before he disappeared, you can’t do it now. At least until this settles down.”

Duke felt cold. He knew Dwight was right. They had to play this in the public opinion of Haven, and no matter what bridge repair there had been between him and Nathan--and he really thought there had been some--this never happened. He had never been kidnapped and tortured by the Rev and McKee. Duke couldn't think of any normal circumstance where Nathan would let Duke hug him, or where he would crawl into bed with Duke to hold his hand. Duke had needed that, but really maybe it was better that they could pretend it hadn't happened. He nodded. 

_I understand._

They heard a car pulling up outside. “Time to go,” Dwight said and offered Duke a hand. They walked out the front door as Nathan and Audrey were greeting the newcomers at the back door. Duke couldn't add to any conversation in the dark, so he leaned back and let himself fall asleep again.

“Duke.” A big hand clamped onto his shoulder, shaking him. He groggily opened his eyes. Dwight was standing in front of him. He was in Dwight's truck in front of an Emergency Room.

“What? How?” Duke asked, confused.

“Audrey took Nathan to Haven General. I took you to Camden. Remember?”

Duke nodded. It was coming back to him. His mind just felt very sluggish. Something sticky was oozing down his chin. He rubbed a hand across it and saw it was blood. Oh. His nose had been bleeding again. But these were his last clean clothes. He realized Dwight was talking.

”Listen, for now I’m your brother from out-of-state. Different fathers. I came in to visit, okay? We were staying in a cabin, I left and came back and found you like this. No idea who did it. Got it?”

He worked through it slowly. Dwight was still cleaning the situation. It’s what he did. Relative, so that the hospital would talk to him. No idea who gave him the concussion. Got it. He nodded again.

“All right, come on then.” Dwight walked him in. Duke realized again that Dwight was a master at the con. He’d have to be to make ‘gas leak’ believable over and over. Duke had his head examined--ha ha--and they decided he’d be fine in a few days. That he'd passed out from low blood sugar earned him an IV and an overnight stay.

Dwight stuck around. Probably to make sure he kept his story straight, but Duke was glad to not be alone. Dr. Sinclair was a flurry of apologies now that Dwight had assured him that The Guard weren't going to hurt his family, and then he had some choice words over the fact that Duke hadn't eaten or taken his pills.

The social worker dropped by and asked him if his boyfriend was abusing him. He laughed at her and told her he didn't swing that way. He was pretty sure she didn't believe him, but she seemed resigned to the fact that he was a grown man and that she couldn't force him to get help. He felt a little bad for her, she seemed to genuinely care, but this situation was so far outside her realm of normal that she’d have had him committed if he’d tried to explain.

A nutritionist came through and talked to him about supplement shakes and strategies to get calories in him. She made an appointment for him with a nutritionist in Haven for the next Monday. He was still seriously underweight, but they all seemed to want him to be Haven's problem now. Duke couldn't really blame them, given what The Guard had done with Dr. Sinclair.

They released him to Dwight with instructions to keep an eye on him for the next few days due to the concussion and to make sure he actually followed the diet, medication, and appointment schedules. Dwight left to get the truck as Duke was getting ready. The social worker pounced as soon as he was dressed, taking one last shot at getting him to confess that Dwight was an abusive boyfriend and not an out-of-state half brother. Duke could understand that. The complete lack of resemblance would have made him suspicious too. He told her that he felt perfectly safe leaving with Dwight, and she walked away shaking her head. At least she didn't try leaving business cards this time. 

The nurse, one that didn't act like he was stupid just because he wasn't talking, came in and wheeled him downstairs. It was beyond nice to see a familiar face waiting to drive him home. Duke had decided that being alone wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Dwight hung up his cell as Duke got into the truck.

After they were on the highway heading for Haven, Dwight said, “Nathan’s fine. Minor perforation to his ear drum, but they expect that to heal on its own in a few months. Should be no permanent damage. A cracked rib, but no internal damage, just a lot of bruising. The Teagues released a story about ergot poisoning at the Rev’s church. Apparently several members suffered massive cerebral hemorrhages and died yesterday.” 

Duke snorted. Yeah, bullet shaped hemorrhages, mostly right between the eyes. 

"The Guard took care of the scene.' Dwight paused until Duke nodded. "Karen Weiss showed up at the police department this morning. Said she had been hiding from the Rev all this time. Adriana Gulf is still missing, but it looks like that one is actually not connected."

Dwight was watching his reaction from the corner of his eye. “The kidnappings last month are being labeled as part of the insanity that went with the ergot. One of the Rev’s flock grows rye, and apparently brought bread several times a week, every time there was a meeting. His fields and stores are being destroyed as a health hazard. Your name is still out of the official record. The Teagues will probably run a story in a few days about your return from the assumed dead.”

Duke didn't like this part of the plan. Didn't like that it had to go back to him being obnoxious, and Nathan being angry and avoiding him, at least until the turmoil of The Rev's death had settled. Duke swallowed hard. He nodded again--Dwight looked relieved. Duke turned to look out the window. 

Dwight stopped at a pharmacy and picked up his prescriptions and drinks. When they got to the marina, Dwight carried them to the _Rouge_ and helped Duke check over the ship. He didn't need to be told what the problem with the ship was, he already knew, and Duke's appreciation for the guy jumped exponentially. They worked together, or okay, Dwight did most of the work, to clean up the deck. By the time they had finished, Duke was actually feeling like the ship was his again. 

Duke knew Audrey and Nathan would call him needing his help before too long, or once he was stronger, he could listen to his scanner and go harass them. Beattie dropped by and left a casserole for him. It was less awkward between the two of them, even when she said she'd check in on him tomorrow. Maybe that moment of realizing their shared grief had started moving them past it. Dwight promised to come by tomorrow and drive him over to the Gull for his Land Rover.

He was safe now. He wasn't alone. It was time to reclaim his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where I ended the story when I wrote it. Now that I've gone through editing, and in some places re-writing conversations, I think that I would not mind continuing. As in some sort of sequel, if anyone was interested. 
> 
> I have read fics before that I thought were rather good, but then the authors clearly fell in love with the fic and dragged it on and on, and I don't want to fall into that with this story. (Hopefully I haven't already. :P)
> 
> Anyway, this has been an amazing experience! I appreciate everyone that has been reading, and I still get like this major thrill when I see the stats have changed. Thank you all for reading!


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